Migraine
by jane0904
Summary: Chuck is having trouble flashing, so an expert is called in, much to Casey's chagrin. With kidnapping! Set end of Season 1. First ever Chuck-fic, so be gentle! Now complete. And if the reviews are good, there may be more. Chuck/Sarah, Casey/OC
1. Chapter 1

"I don't know." Charles Bartowski – Chuck to his friends – shook his head.

"Nothing?" Sarah Walker asked.

"Not a thing." He sat back in his chair and ran his hands through his untidy hair.

"This is not good." Sarah stood up and began to pace. "This is so not good."

"You think?" He tried a half smile. "I was wondering if it really _is_ good and we're just not looking at it from the right angle."

She stopped and glared at him. "Chuck, this information should have made you flash." Glancing down at the open file on the coffee table, she gritted her teeth. "And you say there was nothing."

"Not even a twitch." He leaned forward again, elbows resting on his knees. "You know, it isn't an exact science. And there're been times before when you thought I should know something, and I didn't."

"You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"My bosses … _your _bosses … need to believe you're still working. That the Intersect is still functioning. It's been several weeks since you've seen anything at all, and if they find out there's a problem they're going to start to get worried."

"I'm not. If I never have another flash I won't be sad."

She stared at him. For someone who was at least supposed to be intelligent he was surprisingly stupid at times. "And if you don't? Do you have any idea what will happen?"

"I'll go back to being Chuck Bartowski, top geek at the Buy More." He saw her look, misinterpreted it, and amended, "Okay, not top. But close."

"Not even within spitting distance, not with Morgan around. But not that it'll matter, because you won't be working there any more."

"I won't?"

"No. Because you'll be dead."

He'd heard this too often to take it seriously. "Look, Sarah, if I can't flash on anything, then I won't be a threat to anyone."

"Except us."

"Excuse me?"

She sat down again opposite him. "Chuck, don't be an idiot. You know you're only alive so long as you're useful to the Government. As soon as you stop the top brass will come to a decision, and I don't think you're going to like it very much." There was no way she was going to tell him about Intersect 2.0, that he might be redundant at any moment, but it was a close call.

"You know, I didn't ask for this." He was starting to feel angry. "Bryce was the one who –"

"I don't care!" Her own temper was flaring, and she knew that was a bad sign. She was an agent, and she shouldn't let emotion rule her. She took a deep breath. "Chuck," she said, moderating her tone, "if they think you're a threat, they'll eliminate you. They'll tell Casey to do it, you know that. He might not like it, but he'll obey orders."

"He wouldn't kill me." Unfortunately Chuck no longer felt as confident as he sounded. "We're friends."

"Do you have any idea how many people he's terminated?"

Chuck squirmed a little. "No."

"Neither do I, because he doesn't talk about it. But I know it's a lot. And he had to become friends to some of them, just to get close enough. You really think he's going to ruin his career by saying no?"

"Um …" Chuck swallowed. "Okay, I think maybe you've convinced me. But I'm not doing this on purpose. I really don't see anything."

Sarah felt guilty, seeing the colour leach from his face like that, but it was another emotion she couldn't allow herself. "Then maybe we need to do something more drastic." She reached into her purse for her cell phone. "Casey won't like it, but …" She dialled.

"Casey won't like what?"

--

"Why don't you go back to your own apartment?" Sarah asked, leaning on the back of the sofa and staring at Casey.

The big man stretched out, idly scratching an itch at his waist. "You sound like you're trying to get rid of me."

"Now would I be doing that?"

He half-smiled. "You and Chuck planning on something you don't want me to know about?"

"No."

"Only if you were, I think it would be my sworn duty to stay and stop you. You know what the General's like about fraternising."

"Don't be disgusting." She looked down at her hands, glancing surreptitiously at her watch. "Don't you have any … bushes need trimming or something?"

He knew what she was talking about, but didn't let it needle him. "They're called Bonsai. And some of them are really old."

"Then maybe they need some company."

His eyes narrowed a little. "What kind of game are you playing, Sarah?"

"No game." She smiled at him, and the little worm of concern in his belly began to grow. "I just know how much you love hanging out with us, and I simply thought if you had something better to do –"

"Not a thing. Apartment's tidy, the trees are fed and watered … so I can stay as long as I like." He put his hands behind his head, knowing it emphasised the thick ropes of muscles in his arms.

"Fine." She wasn't impressed. "Stay. See if I care." She glared at him then walked towards the kitchen, interrupted by someone knocking on the front door. _Shave and a haircut_ … She waited and wasn't disappointed. _Two bits_.

Casey sat forward. That sounded familiar. It wasn't like a lot of people didn't use that particular knock, but most didn't put that pause in. And not for so long. "Sarah …" he said, standing up slowly, his black t-shirt stretching across his chest.

"Oh, visitors," she said brightly.

Casey fought the urge to reach down to the small holster attached to his ankle under his black jeans, to remove the pistol hiding there and shoot Sarah down in very hot blood. "If that's who I think it is –"

"Hey, is that someone at the door?" Chuck asked, heading out of the bedroom. "Is it her?"

Sarah peered through the tiny security hole. "It is." She opened the door. "Hello, Max."

The woman outside smiled. "Sarah." It was almost a statement, as if she was confirming an identity. "So, do we do this on the doorstep or do you let me in?" She had an accent, probably English, but tinted as if she'd lived a long while in the States.

Sarah stepped back. "Come on inside."

Maxine Colbert picked up the large case at her feet and lugged it across the threshold. "Thanks."

"Here, let me," Chuck said, hurrying forwards.

"No, I've got it. And it's got some sensitive equipment inside, so I'd rather not risk it." She dumped it on the coffee table, making the cups on it rattle. "Don't worry, I can do that. I'm allowed." She grinned. "You must be Charles."

"Chuck," he corrected. "Everyone just calls me Chuck."

"Hi, Chuck. Call me Max."

"Max." He studied her for a moment, seeing the short brown hair curling at the nape of her neck, the curves half-hidden under the casual clothes, the hazel, almost green eyes, even the slight indentation of laughter lines at the corners that announced she was a little older than she appeared. Then he saw her face change, become harder. No, sadder.

"John." She held out a hand. "Long time no see."

Casey shrugged, not taking it. "I guess."

They stared at each other for so long that Chuck began to get uncomfortable, and so apparently did Sarah, for she clapped her hands. "Well, now that's got all the unpleasantness out of the way, do you want a drink first? Coffee? Tea?"

Max shook her head, tearing her eyes from the man in front of her. "No, nothing for me. I think we need to get to work." She tapped her case. "Where can I set this up? I need it to be fairly dark, and preferably with no interruptions."

"Uh, my room?" Chuck suggested.

She smiled at him, more genuine now. "Fine."

"This way, then, Max."

"After you." She hefted her bag again, following him out.

"What the hell's going on here, Sarah?" Casey growled, his blue eyes flashing murder if she didn't tell.

She didn't fall for it, too immune to his many charms and annoyances to be phased. "Max is here to help Chuck."

"How?"

"Can't you just accept it? Do you have to ask questions all the time?"

"Of course. I'm an agent. And so are you," he pointed out. "If there's something wrong with the Intersect we need to tell –"

"No, we don't." She pushed him back so he was sitting down again, fully aware she had been able to do it simply because he'd let her. "Chuck's having a few … problems. But it's nothing that won't fix itself, so we're not going to tell anyone anything."

"Sarah –"

"No, Casey."

"What kind of problems?" His eyes jumped to the bedroom and back again. "If it's something you think Max can deal with –"

"At least you're calling her by her name this time. Not 'that woman'."

"You're trying to sidetrack me. And I haven't said that in a long time."

"No. In fact you haven't talked about her at all."

"Nothing to talk about."

"No?" She crossed her arms. "First Ilsa, now Max …"

"Leave it, Sarah."

"So you're saying you've not got a problem with Max being here."

"Not a thing. Not like that," he quickly amended. "But you still haven't told me what the problem is in the first place, although I can guess. He's having trouble flashing on anything, isn't he?"

She glared at him, then nodded reluctantly. "Some."

"How much?" She didn't answer immediately, so he repeated, much stronger this time, "How much?"

"Pretty much all of it." She collapsed back in the chair. "I showed him some stuff that should have got his lights flashing and bells ringing, but there was nothing. Hasn't been for nearly a month."

"How come no-one's said anything?" he wanted to know.

"They have. _He_ has. Just … not to you."

Now Casey was getting annoyed. "Why not? I need to be in the loop on these things."

"And they might have to tell you to kill him."

Now he understood her reticence. "What's up, Sarah? You getting even more attached to the guy?"

If looks could have killed he'd have been at the epicentre of a dead space some miles across. "I like him. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You're only supposed to be pretending he's your boyfriend."

"Like you were only supposed to be pretending to fall in love with Max?"

For a second he stared at her. "That's low."

"So it's not true? You didn't love her and leave her, breaking her heart?"

"I did my job."

"Oh, so the General told you to do that?"

"Yes." He really didn't want to discuss it any further. Standing up, he looked down at her. "I hope you know what you're doing. If Chuck has lost the Intersect information, you know what that means."

She got to her feet, facing him and looking up into his eyes. "I know exactly. Which is why Max is doing this as a favour. You don't want to kill Chuck any more than he wants to be killed. So I think we can give her a little time, don't you?"

The air seemed to heat up around them until it was shimmering, but it was Casey who broke first. "Damn it, Sarah. You're just lucky we haven't had an assignment in a while."

"I know," she admitted. "Very lucky."

--

In Chuck's bedroom the man himself was standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed awkwardly. "So … where do you want me?" he asked.

"On the bed."

"Huh?"

She laughed. "Sit on the bed. I'll get my stuff ready. Don't worry, it won't hurt."

"Oh. Good." He lowered himself gingerly onto the counterpane. "So … what is it you actually do?"

"Didn't Sarah tell you?" She busied herself lifting various pieces of equipment from the case, including a scary headset with a dozen nodes across it.

"Not … not really."

"I'm a retro-psychoanalyst."

"Right." He patted his hands together. "Of course."

"You have no idea what that is."

"Not a clue."

"Mostly I find out why people do what they do."

"That's makes it so much clearer."

She smiled at his dry tone. "Chuck, I promise I'm not going to hurt you. And with any luck we'll find out why you're having trouble accessing certain information."

He finally began to relax. "Good. And thanks."

"No need. I owed Sarah a favour."

"So it isn't Casey you're doing this for?" He regretted mentioning the NSA man as soon as the words had left his lips, seeing Max's face tighten and the smile disappear. "Sorry. I think I just put my foot in it again. Seems to be something of a habit."

"It's okay. Sarah said she'd try and make sure he was somewhere else, but she obviously didn't manage it."

"He's nosey."

"He's professional."

"Is … is that how you met?" Chuck asked, needing to talk to try and alleviate his nervousness. Normally he would have played a computer game, or fixed something, but he felt that might be rude.

"Sort of." She turned, the head piece in her hand. "You have to wear this."

"I don't think it's me," he joked. "And it's going to ruin my hair."

"I think we can live with that, don't you?" She advanced on him, and he swallowed hard.

--

"How long does it take?" Casey asked, fidgeting slightly.

"As long as it takes."

"Are all CIA ops trained to be as annoying as possible?"

"I came top of my class."

"That I can believe." He got up to listen at the bedroom door. "They're not saying anything."

"Sit back down!" Sarah said indignantly, following him and hitting him on the pad of muscles in his arm.

"Don't you want to know what's going on?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I just want Chuck to have the best chance possible."

He turned to look at her. "You know they're pushing ahead with the new version, don't you"?

She nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

"And if that happens, if it works and the powers that be decide Chuck isn't needed anymore …"

"Could you?"

"It's my job." He pushed past her back to the living room.

"That's not an answer."

"Best you're going to get."

"So you'd obey orders and kill him."

"It's what I do."

"Obey orders? Oh, I think we all know that," Sarah said witheringly. "Max maybe more than most."

--

"So what's it like?" Max asked. "When you … flash."

"A bit like déjà vu, only worse." He glanced up as best he could at the nodal net sitting snugly on his head. She'd been right. It hadn't hurt. "I suddenly remember things I never knew, only with sounds, smells …I can't really describe it."

"Oh, I think you did a good job." She patted him on the shoulder and adjusted one of the nodes. "Now, just look at the screen." She nodded towards a laptop. "Tell me if anything happens."

"Okey dokey."

--

"Ever have this done to you?" Casey asked, nursing a mug of black coffee.

"Of course. All operatives have psych evaluations."

"Yes, but … what _she_ does."

"You mean going deeper?"

"Mmn."

"Once." Sarah sipped her own mug. "It was a while back."

"After Bryce?"

"No."

He held up a hand. "Only asking. No need to bite my head off."

"Have you?" she asked in turn.

"Coupla times. I was in deep cover, found it hard to come back."

"Before or after Max?"

He glowered at her but answered, "Before. They thought it might make it easier for me if I'd …" He stopped. "You know, I really don't want to talk about it."

"I bet they said you had to."

"Are you going to talk about Bryce?"

"No."

"Then why don't we just enjoy our coffee in silence?"

"Fine."

--

"Nothing."

Max adjusted the strobe. "Now?"

"Nope."

Again a minor correction. "How about now?"

"Not a thing." He sighed. "It's just like with Sarah."

"No, it isn't." She smiled encouragingly. "I detect a lot of activity, particularly with some of the images I've shown you. I think the Intersect is still there, but your connection is out somehow."

"You mean like a bad wire or something?"

"Exactly. If we can figure out what it is …" Her elbow knocked controls, and the strobe began to flash so fast it was almost like a single light. "Oh, sorry." She leaned forward to disconnect it, and a chain fell forward around her neck.

"Whoa." He stared at what appeared to be an engagement ring strung on it.

"Chuck?" Max looked up, suddenly aware of her instruments swinging wildly, registering an enormous increase in brain activity. "Are you flashing on something?" She flipped the switch and the strobe died, leaving just an actinic glow on the back of Chuck's eyeballs. "Are you okay?"

"He left you. At the altar." Chuck looked up into her face. "Casey walked out and left you with nothing but a note."

Max paled. "You saw that?"

"Yes."

She turned away, busied herself, anything but not see the sympathy. "Well, it looks like we found the right frequency. Not one I'd normally use, but –"

"Max. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't you, and it was a long time ago."

"But you still keep his ring."

Her hand went up involuntarily and touched the gold band. "It's a reminder. Not to be stupid again."

"Is that what it was?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course. I fell for a pair of blue eyes and a smile, and had no idea I was just a job to him. It just lets me know not to do it again."

"Max –"

"No, Chuck. I'm not the one here under the microscope." She turned to look at him. "But these readings are really interesting."

"Oh? How?"

"Chuck, are you on any medication?"

"What? Why?" It sounded like he was on the defensive even to his own ears.

She shook her head slightly and sighed. "What are you taking? Is it illegal?"

"No!" He tried to stand up but the cable for the nodal net tripped him and he sat back on the bed. "Do I need this any longer?" he asked, gesturing towards his head.

"No." She lifted it off him and he scratched his scalp. "And answer the question."

He glared at her as much as he could, trying to imitate Casey's intimidating gaze, but obviously falling far short. "I had migraine, all right?"

"When?"

"A month ago. We were busy at the Buy More, I'd had it for nearly a week and I needed to be on top of my game, and … I went to see my doctor."

"Did you tell Sarah?"

"I didn't think I had to."

"Chuck, this could all have been avoided if you had. I'm sure they told you not to take anything they hadn't vetted first."

"It's just headache pills."

"Show me."

He got up and walked into the bathroom, coming back with a small bottle. "The doctor said to take them every day for a month, then only when I needed them."

Max studied the label, then quickly opened up her laptop to the Web. She tapped in the name, and in the blink of the world wide eye she had a list of the ingredients. She stabbed at the screen with a pointed finger. "That's it."

"What?"

"What's stopping you flashing."

"What is it?"

"Nothing much, but obviously important if you're the Intersect."

"I wish everyone'd stop calling me that," he groused. "Sometimes … no, _most _times I wish I'd never opened that email."

"What, and miss out on all this excitement?" she joked.

"Lead me to it."

There was a banging on the door. "Aren't you finished in there yet?" Casey demanded.

"He hasn't changed," Max sighed.

--

"Sit down!" Sarah ordered.

"Or what?" He jerked his head around to stare at her. "I could take you."

"You could try."

"Maybe we should. Just to see who's –"

"Oh, stop it!" Max was standing in the bedroom doorway, having wrenched the wood almost out of the frame. "Can't you stop behaving like a child for five minutes?"

"She started it!"

Sarah's jaw dropped. "I did not! I wasn't the one trying to break the door down!"

Chuck walked out of his room and glowered at the pair of them. "If you want to fight, can you take it outside? I don't really feel like redecorating."

"Sorry," Sarah said quietly. She looked at Max. "So?"

"You don't need to worry. Chuck is fine."

"How fine?" Casey wanted to know.

"It's all still there," Max assured them. "And in a few days he's going to be back to normal."

"Now that would be something to see."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And how is the job going at the Buy More?" she asked sweetly.

"Salesman of the month." He almost preened, but remembered in time his reputation as a crack field agent. "Someone has to be," he added quickly.

"I'm sure they do."

"So what caused it?" Sarah asked.

Max glanced at Chuck, who looked at her pleadingly. He didn't want the others to know he'd gone against orders. Besides, Casey would never let him live it down if he found out.

"These things happen," Max said eventually, hearing Chuck exhale gratefully. "I've left a small strobe device with him – it'll help clear the blockage."

Sarah smiled widely. "Thanks, Max."

"No problem." She flicked her thumb over her shoulder. "I'd better get packed up." She headed back into the bedroom.

"So?" Casey said, turning on Chuck. "Did you flash?"

"Yes."

"What did you see?"

Chuck put his head down. "Nothing."

"You're lying. You know how I know? You won't look me in the eye." Casey took a step forward. "What did you flash on?"

Chuck had had enough. He was the Intersect, for however long he was needed, and Casey couldn't kill him, not without having to fill out so much paperwork he'd still be sharpening his pencil three years from Christmas. "The ring you gave her," he said, his hands on his hips, staring into the older man's blue eyes. "The engagement ring."

"She's still got it?" Casey blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"On a chain. Around her neck." Chuck suddenly felt sorry for him. "I saw the orders. You had no choice."

"No." Casey turned away, walking to the couch and collapsing onto it. "I didn't."

"Max was too invaluable to the Government, wasn't she? And she was talking about leaving, going home." Chuck followed him and sat opposite. "So they sent you in."

"I was to gain her trust. Make her want to stay." Casey could still see Max, standing on the edge of the ocean, the light in her eyes when she said 'yes'. "In any way possible."

"Did you love her?" Sarah asked, standing behind him, this time not making fun.

"An agent's not allowed to fall for their mark."

Sarah and Chuck looked at each other.

"Of course not." Chuck didn't need to flash to see the answer. "So that's why she didn't leave when you jilted her?"

"It was orders."

"Right."

"And a man in my line of work doesn't deserve someone fine like that."

"Who are you trying to convince?"

"You know, that was the crazy thing," Casey said quietly, ignoring the last comment. "She never had intention of leaving. She always said she had no family anywhere, so this was as much home as any place else." He sat forward, his head dropped between his shoulders, more vulnerable than either of them ever remembered seeing. "She's really still wearing it?" he asked, a low growl in his chest.

"She is."

"You need to apologise," Sarah added. "Just say you're sorry."

"She hates me."

"No, I don't think that's the case," Chuck admitted.

"What would you know?"

"More than I ever dreamed possible."

"Talking of which …" Sarah came round to take Chuck's hand. "You were going to help me … wash my hair."

"What?" He stared at her.

"Remember? You offered." She tugged, and he got to his feet.

"What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "Chuck, we need to go now. Otherwise it won't … dry in time."

"Sarah, are you all right?"

Sighing heavily, she dragged him to his feet. "Out. Now."

"I'm going, I'm going. But I still don't see –" The door closed behind him.

After a few moments Casey stood up, a determined look on his face. He straightened his t-shirt, adjusted his pants, and strode towards the bedroom.

Outside, peering in through the window, Sarah sighed happily. "Better," she murmured, then turned on Chuck. "Do you have to be so useless when it comes to personal issues?"

"What, you mean they're …"

She nodded. "That's right."

"Why didn't you just say?" Chuck complained.

"What, that we needed to give them space?"

"Yes, but … in my room. On _my_ bed." He looked disgusted.

"They're not going to be doing anything," Sarah said, shaking her head at him. "We're just giving them a little room to … see."

"See what?"

"What happens next."

"As long as they take it somewhere else before it gets that far."

She hit him lightly on the arm. "You have no romance in your soul, Charles Bartowski."

He rubbed at it. "It's been beaten out of me."

"That was just a love tap," she said. "So, you're cured?"

"I will be."

"I don't have to report anything to higher up?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"So it was the migraine medicine?" Sarah asked.

Chuck stared at her, his mouth open. "How did you …"

She was enjoying the look of total dumbfoundedness on his face. "I go through your stuff at least once a week. How else do you suppose I keep up with you?"

"You go through … _all_ my stuff?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I won't tell Casey about your stack of magazines under the bed."

Chuck blushed bright scarlet.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

Sarah leaned into the car, her hand on the keys, stopping Casey from driving away unless he wanted to drag her screaming along the highway. "What happened?" she asked, trying for sympathetic but with a voice inside her saying she was just coming across as interfering.

For a long moment Casey entertained himself with just that thought, of maybe just a handful of lace left from Sarah's Weinerlicious uniform tucked daintily under the bumper. His hand itched. Except for the paperwork … "What do you mean, what happened?"

"Between you and Max."

He stared out of the windshield. "Nothing to tell."

"Oh, come on. I manage to get Chuck out of there to leave you two alone to talk, to work things out, and you say there's nothing?"

"She got her things and left."

Sarah sighed. The man could be so stubborn at times. "You're really not going to tell me, are you?"

"No."

"How about I say it's a matter of national security?"

"Then I'd probably shoot you right now and take the consequences."

"I could order you."

"I stand by my first suggestion."

She sighed again, this time much heavier. "You know I'm just going to ask Max, don't you?"

"You do that." Pushing her hand away from the keys he gunned the engine, only his foot on the brake stopping the wheels from spinning. "Now, I have to get to work."

"Fine." She stood back and watched as the black car leaped from the kerb. Casey would never get over the loss of his beloved Crown Vic, preferring to use standard issue vehicles now, but she wondered whether he felt the same way over Max.

Sarah smiled. Only one way to find out.

--

As Casey drove away, he was berating himself for having dropped his guard long enough for Sarah, and worse, Chuck, to worm one of his secrets out of him. He was supposed to be a top agent, able to withstand interrogation for days. Hell, he had done, more than once. Yet all that pair had to do was dangle Max in front of him, and he started spouting like a six year old. He should hand back his badge and all his guns.

As he drew up at a red light, he slammed his hands on the steering wheel and swore, loudly and creatively, letting all his feelings out.

A passenger in the car to his left, waiting to make a turn, glared at him, and he realised there were children in the back seat. Well, maybe they should learn a few choice curses while they were young. He glowered back, and the passenger turned to her companion, evidently saying something about the madman in the car next to them, because they pulled out and away, making an oncoming truck hoot loudly at them.

Casey allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Maybe he should call the Highway Patrol. Breaking the law like that. Flagrant. Should be shot.

His own light changed to green, and he moved off. He felt the car speed up, his foot pressing harder on the accelerator. For one, glorious moment he considered pushing it to the floor, driving as fast and as hard as he could, and not stopping until he'd taken out the front window of the Buy More. Making him wear this stupid green shirt and make him talk idiots who didn't know their own minds into buying something they really didn't need. The smile widened. Maybe he could catch all the Nerd Herd at the same time. Just one big pile of … He eased back. That wasn't the way to do things. Much better up close and personal.

_Right_, a little voice inside him seemed to say. _That's why you broke up with Max that way. That was really up close and personal, wasn't it?_

"Shut up," he growled, his mood back to black as the bright spring LA sun shone down on him. God, he hated Mondays.

--

"I'm going to seeing you in fifteen minutes," Chuck said into the phone.

"I know, but I wanted to tell you about Veronica." Morgan sounded happy, something quite unusual for him.

"Veronica? Who's she?"

"The love of my life."

"I thought that was Anna. Or Ellie. Or that girl who works behind the DVD counter at Harveys."

"They were just mere flirtations, oh masterful great one. This is the real thing. True love."

"So you haven't spoken to her yet?"

"No. But I will. Today. She's coming in to pick up her hard drive." There was a slight pause. "And you're going to tell her I fixed it."

"I'm what?"

"For me. For all the old times. For all the good times to come. For my grandchildren."

"You don't have any grandchildren."

"I might. If you do this for me. Please? I'd do the same for you."

There was a slight coughing sound, and Chuck looked up to see Sarah tapping her foot, and her watch. "Let me think about it," he said into the phone.

"No, see I need to know now. She's coming in first thing, and I really need for you to say the hard drive was so bad that it took your best man to make it work."

"You."

"Me."

"Come on," Sarah mouthed. "We'll be late."

"Morgan, I …" Chuck could almost imagine his best friend, the pleading look in his eyes. "Okay. What's her name again?"

"Veronica."

"Okay. I'll tell her you're the genius."

"Thanks! I owe you."

"I know." Chuck hung up and smiled at Sarah. "Friends." He shrugged.

"Come on. Casey's already gone."

"Wouldn't tell you, huh?"

"No," she admitted.

"Maybe there's nothing to tell," Chuck suggested, gathering his things. "You know. Maybe there is no great love story here."

"Where's the romance in your soul?"

"I'm saving it all for you." He quickly dipped his head and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"That's it?" She stared at him, her hands on her hips. "That's romance?"

"I'm working up to something better."

"I'd say you were going backwards. What about that kiss in -"

"I thought we were going to be late?" Chuck interrupted, not wanting to be reminded of bombs, booby traps and Bryce Larkin.

"Hmmn."

The glare was almost a thousand watt, and he sighed. He hated Mondays.

--

Max parked her car in its usual spot under her office building, dead centre between the white lines. She might do work for the government sometimes, but she had her private practice here, and it was where she came most days. Except today she didn't get out immediately.

She sighed. The green Volvo next to her announced that Bill was in already, which was a bad sign. Dr Willliam H Greis only ever came to work early when he planned to make another assault on Mt Max. Last time it had been an office full of white lilies, and the time before that he'd rearranged her desk and cabinets, according to his note, 'to improve the feng shui'. It had taken her ages to get it back the way she liked it. And today she really didn't feel like lugging furniture around, not after the conversation the day before.

Maybe she should go home, call in sick. Say she was laid up in bed with something. No, that wouldn't work. Bill would be round like a shot with a case full of medication and an oxygen tent. A sudden vacation, maybe? That might work. Ring in and say she'd had the urge to go white-water rafting down the Colorado and wouldn't be back for three weeks. Yes, maybe. Only Bill knew she couldn't swim.

She sighed again, much heavier this time. Besides, none of this was going to work. She knew why she was really procrastinating. She could tell by the way she was unconsciously fingering the engagement ring on its chain at her neck.

John Casey. John 'only obeying orders' Casey. Like she'd told Chuck, she'd let his blue eyes and smile catch her unawares, then his apparent kindness just drew her in closer until she was lying squirming on the deck, flapping her fins and trying to breathe. Okay, maybe the fishing analogy wasn't the best, although there had been quite a lot of squirming, and a fair amount of trying to breathe. Her better judgement had told her that something wasn't quite right, and her skills and training as a retro-psych backed it up with evidence, but she ignored both of them. And got her heart broken at the end.

She should have gone back to England, but there really was nothing there for her. Here she had a job, nice house, friends, mortal enemies … why should she want to go back to a country where it rained for ninety percent of the year?

"Max, you get out of this car and go tell Bill - again - that you're not interested." She gripped the steering wheel, sounding reasonable but firm. "Come on. You're a grown woman. You've got letters after your name. Lots of them. You can do this." But she didn't move. "Look, you're not going to see him again. There's no need to beat yourself up anymore. And throw the ring away. Or pawn it. You don't need reminding." _No,_ she thought sadly. _I don't need anything physical to remind me at all._

Tugging the keys from the ignition with a jerk, she flung the door of the car open and got out. Stamping down ruthlessly on the urge to use her metal key fob to vandalise Bill's Volvo with rude words, she looked around the garage.

A dark green van with gold letters proclaiming it to be from the Sunshine Nursery was parked a little further along in the visitors spaces. She sighed, yet again. It would be just like Bill to up the ante and make her office into a little piece of rainforest. Only he would never remember to water them, and when she came back from her white-water extravaganza all she'd find was a few dozen dried sticks in pots, and her carpet ankle deep in mouldering leaves.

She was about to sigh for the fourth time, then stopped herself. That was getting to be something of a habit, and habits like that were a sure sign of mental disturbance. She should know. Hey, maybe that was it. She should check herself onto the psych ward for a month. With no visitors.

Her mood lightening with that thought, she reached back inside to take hold of her briefcase, but she never completed the manoeuvre. Instead there was a sting like an insect at her neck, and she fell forwards onto the seat, the world turning black.

--

Maybe he should grow a beard. A goatee, maybe. Casey turned his head this way and that, staring into the mirror in the men's room at the Buy More, trying to imagine something neatly trimmed adorning his chin. Eventually he shook his head. No. It would only spoil his good looks.

"Are you coming out of there anytime soon?" Morgan called somewhat nervously through the door. "Only there's customers waiting. And some of us need to -"

"Bad burrito," Casey replied. "I'd give it a while."

"Oh." There was a lengthy pause. "O-kay. I think I'll just hold it."

"You do that." Casey grinned, his reflection copying him. Sometimes acting like a kid was the only way he got through a day's work. That and the prospect of perhaps shooting someone.

Moving the chair out from under the door handle, he opened up, ostentatiously waving his hand in front of his face as he did so. Morgan scuttled back. "All yours," he said.

"No, no, I'll wait." The young man hurried away towards his own area, his hands conspicuously clasped in his crotch area.

Casey chuckled, then saw who'd just come in the front of the shop.

It was Sarah, her coat buckled tightly over her uniform. She learned early on that the Weinerlicious outfit tended to cause comments, and drooling, particularly from the Nerd Herd, and now did what she could to avoid such confrontations. She also seemed to be avoiding Chuck, Casey realised, as she was heading straight for him.

"What did you talk about?" she demanded, keeping her voice low, but still managing to inject it with an impressive amount of venom.

"What?"

"You and Max. Yesterday."

"I already told you -"

"She's not gone into work, and I can't reach her at home."

"She's probably taking some time off."

"What is it?" Chuck asked, seeing the concern on Sarah's face and joining them.

"I think something's happened to Max," Sarah said shortly.

"You're imagining things," Casey said. "Max is a big girl. If she wants to duck work she can."

"Her cell just keeps ringing."

"So?"

"She always answers. Always."

Chuck looked into Sarah's face. "You really think something's wrong?"

She nodded. "Yes. I have a bad feeling about this, and I tend to listen to feelings like that. They've saved my life before."

"Then I think we should go and look."

Casey stared at him. "Why should you get involved in this?" He added quickly, "Not that I think there's a 'this' to be involved in."

"I liked her," Chuck explained. "She's trying to help me. And if Sarah says something isn't right, then, well … I believe her."

There was stillness for a moment, then Casey exhaled noisily. "Fine. You two want to act crazy, I suppose I have to go along. I'll check her house. You two go to her office."

"Thanks," Sarah said, meaning it.

"Let me just grab my coat," Chuck added, heading for the rest area. "I'll say it's a family emergency."

"You know she's just playing hookey, don't you?" Casey growled.

Sarah nodded slowly. "I know. Probably after whatever you two talked about. But what if it isn't?"

"Max can take care of herself."

"She's not an agent. What if she's been mugged, robbed … worse?"

"She's someplace under an umbrella sipping a piña colada."

"I hope so."

They lapsed into silence, waiting for Chuck, both of them watching the customers at the Buy More out of habit. Movement outside had Casey automatically checking, but it was only a dark green van pulling out of the side street, some kind of gold lettering on the side.

Sarah started to fidget. "Where is this coat of his? Fiji?"

Casey felt something lift the short hairs on the nape of his neck. "Come on," he muttered, moving quickly towards the back of the store. Throwing the door to the rest area open, a quick glance told him it as empty, but Chuck's coat was on the floor. "Great."

"Look." Sarah pointed to the back entrance, swinging slightly in the breeze.

"Shit."

They both ran out, but the delivery area was devoid of any sign of Chuck. Except … Sarah bent down and picked up a name badge, a fragment of white shirt still attached to the pin. "They've got him," she said quietly, handing it to Casey.


	3. Chapter 3

"You can't report this," Sarah insisted.

"The Intersect is gone. What the hell else do you think we do?" Casey couldn't believe her, standing there in the delivery area behind the Buy More saying they couldn't tell their superiors.

"They can't use him. Whoever they are. You know that. I called Max for that very reason. Chuck can't tell them anything."

His jaw dropped. "Look, as much as I don't like the guy, we've failed, Walker. And I for one think we're going to need help getting him back in one piece."

"Well, I suppose I should be glad you are at least thinking about getting him back," Sarah scoffed, just a little.

"He's my responsibility. And I haven't been told any different."

"So that's why you want to call it in? So they can tell you to leave him? That he's not worth the trouble?" She was aware she sounded strident, with far too much emotion in her tone, and she tried to physically calm herself down.

"Walker, you go putting words into my mouth again and you won't like the answer," Casey warned. "And I seem to recall you telling me yesterday that you never actually reported he was having a problem. So it's not likely, is it?"

"Well, no …" she conceded with ill grace.

"So unless one of us decides to tell the truth and shame the devil, they're not going to find out, right?"

"Well …"

"Right?"

"Okay. Yes. And I suppose I'm sorry."

Casey couldn't help it. He chuckled. "That's the damnedest apology I've ever heard."

"Then you'd better put it in your diary, because it's the only one you're going to get."

"Oh, that I believe." He took a deep breath. "You know, we're wasting time here."

"I agree. Get going."

He didn't move, just crossed his arms until his muscles stood out in the green t-shirt. "You do know we still need to send this in. We need more men, get the airports covered, make sure the –"

"And admit you lost him on your watch?" she countered. "Admit Major John Casey, top NSA agent, couldn't keep his hands on one small geek?"

"He's not small. He's a major pain in the ass. And if the General finds out and we didn't tell her, we'll be looking for drug mules in Alaska." He hated Alaska, having been a few times on missions. Too damn cold. "Or worse."

"A couple of hours, Casey. That's all. Until we know for certain just how far this goes."

He glared at her. "You've really got it bad."

She ignored his comment. "Two hours."

Exhaling loudly, he gave in. "Two hours. Then we call the General."

"Done."

"And what about Max?"

He seemed slightly surprised at the apparent non-sequitur. "What about her?"

"Don't you think it's just a bit too coincidental that she disappears just as someone kidnaps Chuck?"

"We don't know she's disappeared." Even if his gut was telling him otherwise.

"Then maybe we ought to find out for sure first, before we tell anyone else." She looked up, taking a deep breath. "You see if you can get anything off the surveillance cams here," she said, nodding towards the old equipment. "I'll take her office."

"And Bartowski?"

"You know they won't hurt him. If they're sure he's the Intersect then he's too valuable. I'm far more worried about Max, and what they'll do to her to try and get what they want."

Casey wished that hadn't already occurred to him, along with several pictures of similar circumstances when he'd been on the persuading end. "She can look after herself."

"She isn't an agent."

"Then maybe we'd better stop talking about this and get doing."

She glared at him but span on her heel and headed inside, Casey at her back.

They were about to split up but were accosted by Morgan, his face about as angry as they had ever seen it. It reminded Casey of being attacked by a wet chicken. Damn, but he had hated Kazakhstan even more than he hated Alaska.

"Where's Chuck?" Morgan demanded.

"Where do you think?" Casey said, putting his intimidating mode onto full. "He's in my pocket."

"He promised!"

"Promised what?"

A lightbulb went on in Sarah's head. "Veronica?" she said softly.

"Veronica," Morgan confirmed. "He promised he'd be here, tell her it was me that fixed her computer hard drive, but she's just been in and he wasn't here and Lester –" Suddenly he found himself up against the wall, Casey's big hand in the middle of his chest.

"Chuck went home sick," he said, leaning forward. "And he needs some alone time, not with anyone going around and bothering him."

"What kind of sick?" Morgan asked, his voice a good octave higher than normal.

"Bad burrito." He smiled, his eyes cold blue. "We went on a date."

"You and …" Morgan swallowed as best he could, realising he was being wound up. "Well, if he's sick …"

"Morgan!" Big Mike's voice echoed through the door.

"Your master's calling." Casey leaned just a little harder, then stepped back, watching Morgan scurry away.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried about Chuck," Sarah commented. "Or is it Max?"

He didn't answer her, just strode away towards the CCTV tapes, aware of Sarah's eyes on his retreating form.

--

"Anyone could knock this place over without even breaking a sweat," Casey said to himself as he watched the security footage from the CCTV camera outside the back entrance to the Buy More.

The tape was worn, having been rerecorded over several times, and all he could make out was two men manhandling a third across the tarmac and out of shot. If he hadn't known the person hanging between them was Chuck, he'd have been hard pressed to guess. Hell, he wouldn't have been sure it was even a man.

He wondered if Sarah was having any more luck with Max's building, and found himself wishing he was there instead, but he knew she'd be able to sweet-talk the security people much better than him. Hell, he'd probably just hit them until they did what he wanted. He just felt so … frustrated.

"Max," he muttered. "Why now? Why did you have to come back into my life now?"

If he expected an answer, none came, except for the anger building inside. Getting to his feet he grabbed his car keys, storming out past a cowering Morgan, saying, "I'm going to lunch early. Got a problem with that?"

"No, no. No problem."

--

His mouth tasted like something had gone to sleep in it, a very long time ago. Then it had died, mouldering away into a little heap of bones and bits of fur, tickling the inside of his nose. "Uurgh," he groaned.

"Chuck?"

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. "Gnnng."

"Chuck, it's okay. Just try and breathe. It goes off after a while."

He knew that voice. That slight accent. English, maybe. "Mmnkgnk."

"Is that Klingon or something?"

That made him pause. "Klingon?" he managed to say, or at least attempted.

"You've got all the Star Trek DVDs in your room. And instructional books on learning the language. I just wondered."

His eyes opened against his will, and he found he was staring at a pair of black, medium heeled shoes. And a pair of ankles. Quite trim. And nicely turned calves. Knees too, with little dimples. And thighs, quite toned, framed by a skirt that had ridden quite high –

"Hey, you look any further and I'll knock you out again, whether I'm tied up or not."

At that point he realised the ankles were held together with a plastic tie, and the skirt was rucked up because the owner couldn't pull it down as her hands were similarly restrained. Oh, and he also realised that he was lying on the floor, face pressed against cold metal, equally trussed like a turkey ready for Thanksgiving. He blinked hard, twice. "Max?"

Now there was relief. "That's me. Can you sit up?"

"I don't think so. I'm not sure I can even move."

"Feeling comes back, although you might not like it when it does."

"Why?" he asked, curious.

"Whoever tied us up doesn't want us getting away."

He tried to stretch his legs, then yelped as pins and needles made themselves known all down his lower extremities. "Damn!"

"Exactly. That goes off too, if you try flex a little."

"I'm … good grief … trying." It was almost like pain, reminding him of the time Morgan had overheated their microwave lasagne and then accidentally spilled it all down his pants. In a way, though, this was worse. "Did … did you see … who took us?" he asked, trying to get his mind off it.

"No. I think they injected me with something."

"Me too." He had a vague recollection of picking up his coat, then realising someone was behind him. The sting in his neck was probably from a hypodermic. "Have they come in here yet?"

"No."

The pins and needles was finally subsiding, and he was able to roll onto his back and lever himself up into a sitting position by the simple expedient of rocking backwards and forwards a few times with his legs as a counterweight. Not that the view improved that much, beyond being able to see Max's worried face.

They appeared to be in a grey metal box, some twelve feet square, with the light coming from panels in the roof, featureless and plain. He shuddered a little. He wasn't claustrophobic, but … "Um, Max? There doesn't seem to be a door."

"Oh, there's a door," said another voice.

They both turned, as much as they could, to see a man standing in an opening in the blank wall, smiling at them. He was dressed in an expensively cut grey suit, almost the colour of the surroundings, with a pristine white shirt open at the collar.

"Who the hell are you?" Max asked, but was ignored.

"Welcome to my world," the man said, adjusting his cuffs. "It's an honour to entertain the Intersect."

Chuck swallowed. "_Ghay cha_," he murmured under his breath.

--

Sarah was crouched down on the ground next to a newish metallic black convertible.

"Anything?" Casey asked, walking up behind her.

"People get shot doing that," she said, not even turning to look at him.

"You knew it was me."

"So?" She stood up, turning to face him. "This is Max's car, and you can see it's still in her spot." She held up a bunch of keys. "These were kicked underneath."

Casey ignored the frisson of something that had the hairs on his neck raising. "What about her office?"

"They've not seen her at all today. Her partner was about to call the police."

"Did you put him off?"

"I turned on the charm."

"That wasn't what I asked."

She glared at him. "Yes. I put him off. I told him I was passing a message from Max, saying she wasn't going to be around for a few days, that she needed a rest. I'm not sure he believed me, but I hinted that there was an old boyfriend in town she was trying to avoid."

"Thanks."

"Did I say it was you?"

Casey didn't dignify that with an answer, but instead asked, "Anything from the CCTV here?"

She shrugged, handing over three hard-copy monochrome photos, a little bit grainy but on the better side of usual. "Not much. It cycles through every twenty seconds, with a five second view, so I've got Max arriving, then she just seems to sit in her car for a while, probably thinking about a conversation she'd had the day before …" She raised her eyebrows at Casey, but he ignored it, studying the pictures. "Whatever happened, happened in the next twenty seconds." She tapped the last. "She's just gone." She waited. "Well? Did you get anything?"

He didn't look up. "Nada. Or maybe even zilch. Damn camera showed Bartowski being lifted, but that's it. No indication where they took him, or who." He lifted his head from the prints, walking across to where they showed a van had been. Going down onto his heels, he stared at the tarmac. "Leaky oil pan," he said, touching the slick surface. "But no guarantee the occupants were involved or even saw anything."

"But why Max?" Sarah paced, needing to be doing something instead of just standing. "I can understand Chuck, but why Max?"

"The only contact they've had was last night," Casey added. He straightened up. "Which suggests someone was watching the apartment."

Sarah nodded slowly. "Your surveillance equipment up to scratch?" she asked.

"Better than that crap at the Buy More." He held up the pictures. "Or this."

"You get home, see what you can pull off. I'm going to change, meet you there."

"And there I was thinking you were turned on by the Weinerlicious outfit."

"Remind me to shoot you after we get Chuck back."

"No problem."


	4. Chapter 4

"Intersect?" Chuck managed to say, sounding at least as normal as anyone who had been kidnapped could expect to sound. "What's that? Some kind of code?"

"Now, now, Mr Bartowski. We both know who you are, and as a betting man I'd have to say your companion here knows as well." The man in the suit smiled, then lifted one hand and clicked his fingers. Immediately a goon in a black turtle neck and pants brought a chair inside, dusting it down before leaving.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chuck insisted. "I think you've got the wrong people."

"I doubt it." The man sat down, crossing one leg elegantly over the other, his hands loose in his lap. "Oh, and if it helps, you can call me Mr Jones."

"Davey?" Chuck asked, unable to stop himself. "Are we in your locker?"

"Oh, yes, very good." Jones smiled. "Although I prefer to think of myself more as Tommy Lee."

Chuck studied him, and had to admit there was something of a resemblance to the well-known actor about him. Out loud, though, he said, "I think I was right the first time."

"In fact, I'm somewhat surprised you haven't … what is it? Flashed? Yes. That you haven't _flashed_ on me."

Oh, that was not good. Chuck could feel his heart rate climbing, and his palms were beginning to sweat. To his credit he managed to keep a straight face. "You make me sound like some kind of pervert."

Jones chuckled. "Yes. I thought the same thing when I heard it from my source. But it is, I suppose, as good a way of describing it as any."

Max could see Chuck was getting more worried. Perhaps she could give him a moment to calm down. "Let me guess," she said, conversationally, "Your father wouldn't play with you, and you wet the bed well into your school years."

The chuckle became a laugh. "Now, you know I'm not going to enlighten you. Although I have to say the memories you've brought back are priceless."

"Glad to be of assistance."

"Of course, that's what you're here for. To assist in the full utilisation of my acquisition."

Max shook her head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not. You were at his apartment for purely social reasons, and you're not Mr Bartowski's handler. I believe you." Sarcasm, the last resort of the truly desperate.

"His … what?"

"Perhaps that isn't the most up to date phraseology, but it will do. You look after Mr Bartowski for the Government."

"I'm a psychoanalyst," Max said firmly. "If you think I'm some kind of spy –"

"I know what you are. And spies can be … anyone. I mean, look at myself." He glanced down at his immaculate pants, the knife-edge pleats.

"You're a spy?" There was definitely a note of ridicule in her voice.

"Not quite. I deal in … commodities," Jones explained. His accent suggested he was from the East Coast, possibly Boston, but there was a trace of something much harder, hidden well.

"Commo … you mean you sell people?"

"In this particular instance. But I tend to usually deal in fine art, although I have been known to dabble in computer software. Which is how I came to hear about Mr Bartowski here." Jones smiled at the other man. "Or may I call you Chuck?"

Chuck relaxed, just a micron. No indication that this man worked for Fulcrum, at least not directly, and Mr Jones was so arrogant he would have been proud to announce it. "No," he replied.

Jones allowed himself to smile. "I suppose in your position I wouldn't be feeling too friendly either."

"Why don't we try it and find out?" Chuck wrestled with his restraints for a moment, but they were too tight.

"Let's get back to the matter in hand, shall we?" Jones turned back to Max. "And your relationship with Mr Bartowski."

"Charles is my patient, that's all," Max said.

"Really. And just what exactly are you treating him for?"

"That's confidential."

"Don't be facetious." He brushed away a microscopic fleck of dust from his cuff. "I don't want to hurt you, but …"

Max almost growled. "Personal issues."

"I imagine you can be more specific."

"I imagine you're right."

"Miss Colbert –"

"Doctor Colbert."

He gave her a look that suggested he didn't like being corrected, but he dipped his head just once. "_Doctor_ Colbert, I think you know a lot more about Mr Bartowski than you would like to admit to."

"Of course I do!" She laughed, but there was no humour in it. "He's my patient!"

"And I am running out." He smiled coldly. "A little wordplay, and not very subtle, so I do apologise, but I am on something of a tight schedule here, and I _am_ running out of patience, Doctor. You will tell me."

She was about to explain further that she wasn't allowed, but Chuck spoke up.

"Tell him," he said, ending the words with a sigh. "I don't want them to hurt you."

Max looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Like I said, I don't want you hurt." He straightened as much as he could. "In fact, _I'll_ tell him."

Jones raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Then please go ahead."

"I … I have a problem with … my sexuality." Chuck swallowed, not needing to pretend to be embarrassed. He'd been thinking hard in the time Max had given him, searching for something she could be treating him for that would be so unlikely as to actually sound true.

"You mean you're gay?" Jones asked.

"No! God, no!" He knew he'd protested too much, but maybe he could turn that to his advantage too. "I just … I have this neighbour, and he …" A blush wormed its treacherous way up his neck and flooded his face.

Max took over, smoothly picking up his lead. "Charles has what he considered inappropriate feelings for one of his friends." She smiled, just a little. "As he said, a friend who happens to be a neighbour. " She wondered vaguely why she felt a certain satisfaction over this, then realised it was because John Casey was the most defiantly heterosexual man she'd ever come across, and maybe she was just getting her own back. A little.

"Would this be the man you work with as well? John, I believe?" Jones sat back, shaking his head. "Unfortunate."

"You could say that," Chuck added quietly.

"We've been working through the feelings," Max went on, "and I decided it was time to meet this man face to face. _That's_ why I was at his apartment last night."

"As was he …" For the first time they saw a moment of doubt cross Jones's eyes, but he blinked it away.

"I have to say the session did not go well. Perhaps I was a little –"

"You really expect me to believe that you're treating Mr Bartowski because he has feelings for another man?"

Max shrugged as best she could under the circumstances. "I really don't care what you believe," she said testily. "You've drugged me, kidnapped me, held me here against my will, _and_ threatened me … My lawyer is going to have a field day, and that's after the Police finish with you. By the time I've done, you won't have a penny to your name or a silk suit on your back."

"And just who is threatening whom now?" Jones laughed again, but there was a hesitancy about it that wasn't there before.

"It's not a threat."

"Sir." A man appeared in the open doorway.

"Yes?" Jones didn't look up.

"This has just arrived." The man stepped closer and handed over a single sheet of paper.

Jones read it quickly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

Jones nodded, and his flunky retreated. "Well, Dr Colbert, it appears your credentials check out."

"Why wouldn't they?" Max asked.

"It seems the CIA are more creative than usual in fashioning their backgrounds. Or perhaps it's the NSA. Or the Office of Homeland –"

She exhaled heavily though her nose. "Excuse me, but I spent years getting those doctorates."

"Of course."

"You know, I was wrong." Max glared at him. "I think you not only wet the bed, but your mother dressed you in girls' clothes until you were at least ten, and your father let her."

"And I'd suggest you ask them, but as they've been dead for some time you might find it a long wait for an answer." He smiled coldly.

Chuck felt the temperature of the room drop a little and tried to fill the gap. "Look, I don't know about this Intersect thing, but you've got the wrong guy. I'm just a nerd. I work in a store. I have a girlfriend who might or might not be about to leave me, and I … I'm somewhat attracted to my neighbour." A blush flamed across his cheeks. "That's it. That's my life. I'm boring and ordinary. About the most exciting thing you can say about me is that I drive the Nerd Herder too fast sometimes."

"Nerd Herder?"

"It's a car. I get to use it because I'm a supervisor at ... Mr Jones, I don't know anything. I don't work for the Government, except in a roundabout way because I pay my taxes. I'm not brave or courageous. I'm just … me."

Jones gazed at him. "That's very touching. And I wish I could believe you, I really do. But my informant says otherwise."

Two men, one the same as before, appeared in the doorway. "Sir. It's ready."

Jones got elegantly to his feet. "Good. Bring him."

"What?" Chuck sat forward. "Bring who where?"

"I don't intend to hand you over to my buyers without proving, at least to myself, that you are the Intersect." Jones gestured to the two men, who crossed the room and hauled Chuck to his feet.

"Stop!" Max said, struggling against her bonds. "Leave him alone!" She tried to swing her legs round to stop them, but one leaned down and backhanded her across the face.

"Enough!" Jones ordered, then went down onto his heels next to her, hitching his pants up so as not to pull on them. "My apologies. Good help is so hard to find nowadays. All that's available are thugs."

She could taste blood in her mouth from a split lip. "Like attracts like," she managed to say.

"Perhaps it does." He stood up. "And for God's sake, untie his ankles," he added as he watched his men drag Chuck from the room. "We're not barbarians." He followed them out, the door closing silently behind him, leaving Max alone in the small room.

-x-

"John, you seen Chuck anywhere?" Ellie was standing her doorway.

"Not for a while. Why?" Casey had parked his standard issue vehicle and started to cross the small courtyard towards his apartment.

"Oh, he said he was going pop back lunchtime to help me get a box from the attic. Just some stuff I was going to give to charity." She leaned on the frame, as if settling in for a long chat. "There's a new shop opened up near the hospital, and all their proceeds go to the daycare fund, so I thought I'd pop by on my way to work and –" She stopped, grinning. "Mostly it's Chuck's old toys in this box, so he insisted he wanted to go through it first, make sure there wasn't something he wanted to keep."

Normally Casey wouldn't mind. Ellie was easy on the eye, and even if she was in a serious relationship with Captain Awesome, it didn't mean they couldn't flirt once in awhile. Still, right now … "Sorry, Ellie. I haven't seen him."

A thread of concern crossed her face. "He was at work, wasn't he?"

"Of course he was. And I meant not recently."

"How come you're back so early?" she asked, checking her watch. "You never come home to lunch."

"Half day," he lied glibly, at the same time wondering idly whether she was keeping an eye on him. "Lot of stocktaking going on, and they don't need the likes of me going in and ruining their counting."

"Now, John, you know full well you're one of their best people." She smiled, just for him. "Chuck's always going on about how you can close a sale just by looking at people." Okay, maybe not just for him.

"I just make them see they can't live without that new toaster oven."

"No wonder Morgan calls you Obi-Wan sometimes."

His eyes narrowed. "He does what?"

"I don't think he was being insulting … he just admires your ability."

"Hmmn. I might just have to have a word with him."

"Oh, don't. Please. I'd hate to have him get into trouble just because I couldn't keep my mouth shut."

"Obi-Wan …" Casey growled.

"It's flattering. You know, '_these aren't the droids you're looking for'_ sort of thing."

"I get the picture."

"He just wishes he could sell like you." She laughed. "And I hope you've got shares." She went to go back inside.

"Ellie …"

She turned back. "What?"

"Just …" He suddenly didn't know what it was he wanted to say, more than to tell her they'd get Chuck back. Not that she knew he was missing in the first place, but she could very well be finding out before long. His training kicked in. "It's just that I heard Chuck and Sarah talking, and they were considering taking a few days away somewhere. You know how impulsive he can be."

"Chuck?" She shook her head. "Chuck's never done anything impulsive in his life."

"Sure he has. He went out with Sarah, didn't he?" Casey grinned at her. "Anyway, I was only letting you know. They said they'd be talking about it more tonight, so he may be late. Or maybe he'll finally get lucky and not come home at all."

"You really think he and Sarah might …" Her eyes widened at the possibilities.

"Don't you go ordering the wedding bouquet quite yet," he teased.

"No, no, I won't." She looked much happier now. "So I might see him at breakfast."

"You never know." He nodded towards his own apartment. "Now, I've got to …"

"Oh, sorry, John." She immediately stepped back over her own doorstep. "I didn't mean to keep you."

"No worries."

"Anyway, I've got to get ready for my late shift at the hospital." She waved and went inside.

Casey stared at the closing door for a moment, then strode onwards. He lied all the time, about anything and everything, just to get the job done. But Ellie was a nice lady, and somehow he felt just a little guilty at ... He shook himself. Max. It was all her fault. Coming round, making him remember things best left forgotten, reminding him of other days when he almost allowed himself to be the John Casey of old …

Closing his apartment door behind him, he went to change out of the hated green shirt and back into his black T and jeans. Grabbing a soda from the fridge he switched on his computers and backtracked the surveillance.


	5. Chapter 5

Sarah sat in her car for a long time outside Chuck's apartment building, but it reality it was probably only a minute or two. She stared at her hands on the steering wheel, gripping it until her knuckles showed white.

Conflicted. That's what Max would have called it. Two men who both cared for her, and she couldn't even make a simple decision. What was wrong with her? Just tell Chuck that what they had was just work, that they were pretending. That was all she needed to do, then her life would be back on track, and she'd be laughing. Of course, her relationship with Bryce Larkin hadn't exactly been sanctioned by the agency either, but he'd gone rogue before her bosses had the chance to be more than mildly annoyed. Except he hadn't gone rogue, and now he was deep undercover and out of her life. If she wanted it.

Easy. That's what it should be. No more Bryce, tell Chuck he was just a job, and then she'd be free to request a transfer to work more suited to her particular talents. Like killing people.

Except Chuck would just look at her with those big brown eyes of his, and she'd want to run her hands through his untidy hair, tell him that there was more to life than discussing sandwich condiments with Morgan, and place another kiss on those lips ...

She laughed to herself. They made an impressive team, all right. There was Casey, unable to admit that he had feelings for another human being and forced, by virtue of his job, to leave her at the altar and break her heart. Of course, he _was _a man, which actually probably explained a lot anyway, but still ...

And then there was Chuck, trying to be a hero when it wasn't his choice, and doing a damn good job of it too, even though no-one had officially told him. And all the while he wasn't making a secret of his attraction to herself, but wore his heart on his sleeve and hoped she wasn't going to rip it into tiny pieces and stomp all over them.

And then there was her. Sarah Walker, at least for the moment. Career agent. Who had found herself waking up more than once and wondering what life would be like working at the Weinerlicious full-time, and coming home in the evening to a man who had spent his day fixing computers. Okay, maybe not the Weinerlicious, but some other, more suitable job.

That is, if he came home at all. If she hadn't lost the chance to even consider making a choice.

She sighed and removed the keys from the ignition. "You'd better just get him back," she said to herself as she climbed from the car. "Then you can choose whether to kill him or kiss him."

-x-

"Sit."

Chuck looked down at the chair, the restraints on the arms and legs, and shook his head. "Look, thanks, but I think I'll stand."

"Sit." One of the two men who had dragged him along the corridor now pulled him into position, then pushed down on his shoulders until he felt like he was at least three inches shorter.

"Fine. Fine. But a please would have been nice."

The man, who Chuck was beginning to think of as Bad Guy No. 1, or BG1 for short, held him down while his colleague removed the plastic tie from his wrists, but not giving him any time to massage life back into them before strapping them down to the chair. His ankles were similarly fettered.

This at least gave him the chance to look around while trying not to wince as the blood supply was in turns both restored and restricted again. He was in another room, this time bigger than the other by as much again, but the extra space was taken up with an entire bank of TV screens. "Wow," he muttered, then winced as the tie around his left ankle was tightened more than was necessary.

Mr Jones beamed. "I thought you might appreciate it. All for you."

"Are those the TX180's? Only I should tell you that the TX185s give you a lot better quality, particularly in High Def, and you don't want to lose that resolution after you've paid out good money for a decent player. I mean, even cable comes across better if –"

Jones sighed. "Enough. Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm nervous." A man in a white lab coat approached, armed with a handful of sensors on leads. "Which is happening even more as we speak," Chuck went on quickly. "Can we talk about this? I mean, I don't want you to go to all this trouble on my account when I'm just a supervisor in an electronic goods store. Which, by the way, I could get you a good discount at if you'd just let me go."

"If I didn't have to have you conscious for this I would dope you again," Jones said, sounding more irritated. "Or at least gag you."

"Sorry." Chuck eyed the man in the coat. "Wait. What's he doing?"

"These are just to let us know if you lie," the man said, smiling benignly through small, horn-rimmed glasses. He began sticking the sensors to Chuck's face and the back of his hands.

"Why ... why would I lie? I don't even know what you want."

"Dr Grebble, are we ready?" Jones asked. "I do have that appointment to keep."

"All done," Grebble said, stepping back, still smiling. "But I suggest we go into the other room. It won't hurt you, but prolonged exposure can cause headaches, nausea, possible strokes."

"Strokes?" Chuck squeaked.

"Don't worry," Dr Grebble said, patting Chuck's hand. "We'll be close by."

Chuck heard the door open then close, and suddenly he was alone. He could feel sweat beginning to run down his forehead, and wondered idly if it would interfere with their readings. Dr Grebble might find ... Grebble. Something about that name seemed to be familiar. Not that they'd ever met. A name like that, Chuck wasn't likely to forget. So why did it seem like he should know? Then he realised. Under normal circumstances (if his life could be described as anywhere near normal anymore) he would probably have just had a flash. It felt odd, like one of those sneezes that just don't materialise, and he wished he could rub at his nose to stop the phantom itch.

He was about to consider the situation more fully, when he realised the lights were dimming, at the same time as the screens in front of him were coming on ...

-x-

Casey was still staring at the screen when Sarah knocked. As he opened the door he stared at her, his eyes travelling up and down her body as he realised they were both wearing identical outfits. Except that she filled hers slightly better than he did his. For a moment he pondered going and changing, but instead just stood back and let her enter his apartment.

"Well?" she asked, turning to face him as he closed the door.

"I think I might have something." He passed her and strode back to his computer, making her follow. "Do you have those hard copies you printed from Max's building cams?"

Wordless she pulled them from her shoulder bag passed them over.

Casey glanced at them before setting them down on the table and backtracking the surveillance footage, flickering bars appearing across the screen showing he was fast rewinding. At last the image stabilised. "Look," he said, pointing.

Sarah moved forward and gazed at the screen. He'd been right – Casey's NSA equipment was far superior to anything at the Buy More or the office building, but it wasn't the quality resolution or the fact that is was full colour that held her eye. It was the green van with gold lettering on the side.

"That's ..." She grabbed one of the prints. "This," she added.

"Yeah." Casey tapped the paper. "And I saw a green van pull away from the Buy More before we knew Chuck had been snatched."

"Sunshine Nursery," Sarah read. "Can't see who's driving, though."

"No," he agreed. "Tinted windows. Damn things should be illegal."

"Did you pull any information on it?" she asked.

Casey gave her a withering look. "No. I've been sitting here twiddling my thumbs." He shook his head and punched a couple of keys on the board, bringing up new information. "Sunshine Nursery is a front, owned by Seluchi Giacani."

"Giacani." Sarah's brow creased. "Why do I know that name?"

"Well, if the Intersect were here he could probably give you chapter and verse on him, but as he isn't ..." He zoomed the screen into the relevant section. "Giacani is Italian, at least on his father's side. His mother is from New York, but she moved the family to Boston when they got divorced. He came out to LA about ten years ago." Casey paused. "Seluchi isn't mob related that we're aware of, but he makes his money buying and selling. You want it, he can get it."

"And you think someone wanted Chuck."

"Can you think of another reason for kidnapping a nerd like that?"

"Unfortunately, no." Sarah sat down. "So you think they know he's the Intersect."

Casey crossed his arms. "Has to be."

"Fulcrum?"

"No indication Giacani's a member. But then we don't have the Intersect to check it."

"All right, all right," Sarah said, putting up her hands in surrender. "Yes, we lost him on our watch. But we're trying to get him back." She nodded towards the screen. "Anything in the file on where they might have taken him?"

Casey shook his head. "Giacani has a house out in the hills, but he'd be a fool to take Bartowski there. And he's got a dozen different warehouses and office buildings scattered across the city. It would take hours to search them all. Or a lot more men," he added significantly.

She stared at him. "No. No, Casey. You said we'd give it our best shot without calling it in."

"And unless our luck was damn good, which I have to say isn't the case right now, by the time we'd got through searching, the Intersect will be out of the country on a plane to some God-forsaken corner of the globe, and we'll have lost our advantage."

"We'd have lost Chuck," Sarah corrected. "And Max."

Casey felt a tug of something he didn't recognise in his guts. "Yeah. Her too." He tried a softer tone. "Walker, we don't have a choice."

"What about his tag?" Sarah asked, not willing to give up.

"You think I didn't check that first?" Casey played another arpeggio on the computer's keys, and a map of the city came up, a green circle moving out from where the apartment was situated until it disappeared off the edge of the screen as another began. "Not a sign."

"Damn," she whispered. "You think he might have broken it? Like he did before?"

Casey shook his head. "No. Mainly because I'm not getting any signal from the one in his shoe, either."

"You bugged his feet?"

"Believe me, that was no easy job." The big man suppressed a shudder. "He really needs to change his Odor Eaters."

"I'll make sure to tell him when he gets back."

"If."

She glared at him, thoughts racing through her mind of what they could do, and how they could do it. Until she knew there was no alternative. "Fine," she said, giving in. "Call them."

-x-

Images, piled one of top of the other. Ships, mountains, faces, words, all bombarding him until he wanted to scream. Some of the pictures made him want to throw up, but they were fleeting, broken bodies and blood that disappeared as soon as they'd made an impact on his retina. It all seemed too familiar, like the session with Max, only she hadn't used photos of death and destruction. What she had used was a strobe, but that was missing. And she'd talked to him, her voice soft, gentle, explaining what was happening, why she was doing whatever it was. He tried to concentrate on that, reliving the memory instead of falling into the depths ...

Then it was over. The screens went blank, and he was able to take a breath.

"Well?" Jones said as he followed the doctor into the room.

Grebble leaned over Chuck, tutting as he saw the large sweat stains on the younger man's white shirt. He began removing the sensors. "I will have to analyse my data. It should take ... no more than half an hour."

"But how did it look?"

"There was no indication that he had an episode, but it is possible that we simply didn't use the correct image."

"We showed him thousands."

"And perhaps not the right ones." Grebble smiled at Chuck. "There. All done." He walked out, chattering away to himself.

Jones sighed. "Very well. Take him back to the holding cell."

"Yes sir." BG1 and the other one, obviously Bad Guy 2, undid the restraints.

"Wait, that's it?" Chuck said.

"For the moment," Jones conceded.

"You mean I don't get to watch reruns of Firefly?"

"Take him back. Now."

"Sir."

Each holding an arm, BGs 1 and 2 lifted Chuck to his feet, half dragging, half carrying him out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

General Beckman did not look pleased. "Why didn't you report this immediately?" she demanded.

"We wanted to be sure, ma'am," Casey said, attempting not to stand to attention, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"And are you?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"But we know who has him. That surely makes a difference," Sarah put in, wondering whether the woman on the screen ever slept. It was coming up to six pm now, and that made it around two in the morning in Washington, yet here the General was, wide awake and in full uniform.

"Yes, it does. And I am authorising as many men as you need to check Giacani's home and other places of business. Major, you are to oversee the operation. If any of them locate the Intersect, you are to be the ones to enter."

"Yes, ma'am," Casey said.

"Let there be no misunderstanding over this. You know I feel that Chuck should be in a secure facility, and I haven't changed my mind on this. Despite Agent Walker's entreaties to the contrary." Beckman's eyes were cold.

"General, I simply feel that Chuck won't be able to function as the Intersect if he's locked up in a bunker somewhere. He needs to have his family and friends around him." Sarah stuck her jaw forward. "Without them, he's useless to us."

"And you may well be right. But we can't afford to allow that level of information to fall into the hands of a foreign power either. And to that end, if you are unable to extract the Intersect, you will terminate the project."

Sarah stared. "Are you saying –"

"Yes, Agent Walker." Beckman turned her eyes on the man standing so very still next to her. "Major Casey, you have your orders. If it appears that the Intersect has been compromised in any way, you are to neutralise the threat. Do you understand?"

Casey nodded, just once. "Yes, ma'am," he said curtly. "And … the civilian?"

Beckman sighed. "Doctor Colbert understood the risks when she began to do work for us. I realise it may be difficult for you, under the circumstances, but if there are no other alternatives, you have permission for anything you deem necessary."

The transmission cut off before he could say another word.

"She can't be serious," Sarah said, taking an involuntary step back and staring at the blank screen.

"Deadly." Casey tightened his jaw. "If we can't rescue them, we take them all down."

-x-

Bad Guy 1 had retied his hands, but at least his feet were free. As they manhandled him along the corridor, Chuck wished he really was Joe 90.

Morgan had found them once, an old set of recordings from a somewhat obscure puppet series from the1960s, and they'd sat on his bed watching them for most of one wet Saturday, eating cold pizza and laughing at the somewhat quaint format – strings, even – but enjoying them for what they were.

His best friend had espoused that it was probably some kind of abuse, putting a nine year old boy into a machine that downloaded a whole new set of skills, and Chuck had agreed, but it had certainly been fun, watching a child take on spies and other villains bent on world domination.

Right now, though, Chuck would have given almost anything for a pair of the glasses that allowed the kid to do that, just to be able to get away and find help. Literally given anything. A limb, even. Okay, maybe one of Casey's limbs.

"Come _on_," BG1 said for the fifth time.

"I've got cramp," Chuck explained. "Being tied up for so long."

"You'll have worse if you don't get going."

BG2, slightly more sympathetic, put in, "You can sit down soon."

"Or we can knock you out and carry you," BG1 threatened.

"You know, there's no need to be like that," Chuck said. "A little consideration goes a long way."

"Then I'll be considerate when I break your kneecaps," BG1 growled.

Chuck had the almost overwhelming urge to ask if he was related to anyone in the Casey family, but for once held his tongue. Besides, there was something much more interesting in the air than unintentionally getting his head kicked in. Literally in the air. He could smell something, and he lifted his chin to get a better whiff. Freshness. Possibly rain, although there hadn't been any forecast for a few days, but there was definite the odour of outside. Probably through a door that was open. And if a door was open, there was the possibility of escape. Of freedom.

He glanced at the two men and mentally apologised for what he was about to do.

"Uh ... do you have a bathroom around here?" he asked, trying for a smile.

"What?" BG1 growled.

"A bathroom. I have no idea when it was I went last, but I need to go soon. Actually, make that now. Otherwise it's going to be messy." He paused a second. "_Very_ messy."

BG2 looked at BG1, and in that moment took his attention away from Chuck.

Taking advantage of the lapse, Chuck swept one long leg out and caught BG2 behind the knee, throwing him off balance and catapulting him into BG1. They both went down, and it was only a miracle that Chuck didn't follow. He tried desperately to remember what he'd seen of Sarah and Casey fighting, but his mind went blank. Even Bruce Lee had deserted him. In frustration he kicked out at BG1, by pure chance catching him across the nose, then turned it into a loping run, heading down the corridor towards that elusive smell of freedom.

-x-

"We can't do this!" Sarah insisted, her hands on her hips.

"Orders," Casey said, checking his gun.

"And you can do this? Just take him out? Take them both out?"

He turned on her, his temper uncharacteristically short. "You think I want to? That I enjoy killing people?"

She stepped closer. "Yes!"

"Well ... maybe I do. At least, I take pride in my work, which might come to the same thing. But you're wrong if you think I'd take any pleasure in terminating the Intersect."

"Chuck!" There was only a foot between them now, and one part of her mind was already working on ways to incapacitate her partner if need be. "His name's Chuck! Not _the Intersect_! Chuck Bartowski, who for some unknown reason respects you, and would like to be your friend!"

"He does?" Casey shook his head to dislodge the possibility. "But that's not the point. I'm NSA, and I've just been given a direct order. I'd rather find him, even see him locked up in that bunker, but if push comes to shove, I will do it. Even if you're in the way."

-x-

There it was. He was right. Pounding down the corridor, hands still tied in front of him, Chuck knew the other men were only a short distance behind him, but he couldn't stop now. And the door was open.

He threw himself through it, almost falling, knowing if he did he'd never get another chance and somehow managing to retain his feet. He carried on running, realising there was gravel underfoot and that the sun was almost down, but these were just peripheral to the main aim of keeping going.

A palm in a pot loomed up at him in the gloom, and he barely managed to sidestep it, then another, and a third, until he was pushing through foliage. A tiny portion of his mind was wondering where the hell he was that would have so many plants, but mostly he concentrated on getting away.

Suddenly he could see a gap, and he headed for it, but it was his undoing. A trolley of some form tangled his legs, rolling away beneath him, and he fell, jarring his shoulder painfully as he managed to half-roll, but unable to get his feet back under his body to keep going.

They were on him almost immediately, BG1 pushing his head down and grinding it into the gravel.

"Hey, we're not supposed to hurt him," BG2 remonstrated.

"He broke my nose!"

"So?"

Chuck managed to wriggle free, kicking out again.

"Grab him!" BG1 ordered, trying to keep clear of the flailing feet.

"Damn, he's slipperier than an eel!"

"Let go of me!" Chuck yelled, hoping to attract some kind of attention, but from the general emptiness of the place he realised it wasn't likely. Still, anything was better than nothing. "Help!"

A big hand muffled his mouth, almost suffocating him.

"Jeez, keep him quiet, won't you?"

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?" BG2 yelped, dragging his hand back. "He bit me!"

"Now you know how it feels."

Chuck was taking in breath for another shout when someone hit him, hard, on the jaw, and his internal lights dimmed.

The two men gathered themselves, one of them investigating his palm. "How can such a wimp be so hard to take down?" he asked, not really expecting a response. "I'll probably need a tetanus shot."

"Good," BG1 said, as unsympathetically as possible, investigating the state of his nose and flicking blood onto the ground. "Maybe you'll get rabies and I can put you down."

They unceremoniously pulled Chuck to his knees, then dragged him back towards the long low building.

In his half unconscious state Chuck wasn't aware that the tracking device Casey had secreted in his sneaker had activated as soon as he was outside the range of the jammer, and it was sending its signal through the ether.

-x-

"I don't believe you, Casey." Sarah's voice had changed, become more gentle, almost seductive. "Maybe a few months ago. But you've got to know him. Seen how he is. How he wanted you to make peace with yourself over Ilsa. And over Max."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

A small smile tilted her lips. She'd seen something flash in his eyes at the mention of the doctor's name, and she knew she could push it, just a little further. "If you honestly thought so little of Chuck you'd have recommended taking him in already."

"Not my decision."

"And you've done your best to protect him."

"My job. What I get paid to do."

"We know all about what you get paid to do. And Max has first hand experience."

The big man's hand closed into a fist. "Walker, so help me, if you don't shut the –"

There was a beeping from the computer, and Casey instantly turned, their bickering forgotten in a moment.

"Is that ..." Sarah was at his shoulder, barely able to breathe.

"The tag," Casey confirmed, quickly bringing up the map again. His large fingers flew surprisingly delicately across the keyboard, zeroing in, then ... "Damn it."

"What?"

"It's gone."

"Was there time to get a fix?" Sarah asked, checking the clip on her pistol before sliding it back into place.

"Not specifically, but definitely a general area." He was grinding his teeth as he scrolled quickly through a number of screens. Then a wicked grin broke out.

Sarah leaned forward. "Well?"


	7. Chapter 7

Max was getting cold. Lying on this metal floor, the chill was permeating up through her body, and she was starting to shiver. Plus, her feet had gone to sleep. Not a good sign. That meant the blood supply was being cut off somewhere, and if it stayed that way she could have major problems.

She had to chuckle. Not that she didn't have problems, and one of them in particular was major. John Casey, to be precise. No matter that she was lying in a small room, her hands and ankles tied with tapes, waiting for something probably very bad to happen to her, but that man was in her mind. John Casey.

Last night, or whenever it was they'd spoken last, well … they didn't really speak. He'd followed her back into Chuck's bedroom and watched her pack up her stuff.

"Is he really going to be okay?" Casey had asked.

"I don't see why not. Just give him a few days." She slipped the nodal net into the case.

"And you?"

She looked up, surprised. "And me … what?"

"Are you … okay?"

Max stared, seeing everything she used to love about this man in front of her, the gentleness she'd always known to be there … and told herself it was all a lie. "I'm fine. Just anxious to get home." She lifted the bag off the bed.

He was at her side immediately. "Let me."

"I can manage."

"I'll carry it," he insisted, taking it from her. "Least I can do."

She gave in. "My car's parked outside."

"Good." He didn't move. "Max, I …"

She shook her head. "John Casey, lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, needing to say it before the urge disappeared.

"Sorry."

"For doing that to you. I could go into why, what for, but there's no point. I'm just … sorry."

For a long moment all she could feel was the same pain that had wracked her for weeks after finding his note, like someone had thrust a red hot spear into her chest and twisted it around a few times for good measure. "What, you want forgiveness? Is that it?"

"No. I know you can't … I just wanted to say."

"Well, you've said it. I don't think we need to go any further into it, do we?"

He was standing so close he could smell the light perfume she always wore. "Max -"

She wrested the bag from his grip. "No. No." Stepping back she held up a hand. "I came here as a favour to Sarah. That was it. You weren't even supposed to be here."

"Sorry about that."

"Yes, you're sorry about a lot of things, aren't you?"

"Not that many."

Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath. "I have to go." She turned on her heel and was out of the bedroom door.

He hadn't followed.

Now she lay staring at the grey walls, wondering how, after just a few minutes, she could have let him inside her defences again. No wonder she hadn't managed to get more than an hour's sleep that night. And that was probably why she hadn't noticed someone sneaking up on her in the car park. In fact, this whole thing was John Casey's fault. All of it. Every single shining piece of crap that had happened to her since -

The door opened and Max twisted enough to look up, seeing Chuck hanging between two men dressed in black. He looked disoriented, to say the least.

"Here you go," one of the men, blood trickling from his nose, said. "Home at last." He pushed Chuck inside and closed the door with a bang.

"Chuck. Chuck!" Max tried to get closer, scraping her thigh on the floor but ignoring the stinging.

"Max?"

She felt a flash of relief. "Are you okay?"

Chuck managed to roll onto his back, staring up into the light panels. "Ow?" he said.

"What happened to you? You've been gone a while."

"Really?" He squinted at her. "Didn't seem that long." He winced, feeling a thudding behind his eyeballs. "But my migraine's back."

"Close your eyes," Max instructed. "I know this isn't exactly a dark room, but just listen to my voice."

"Why, are you going to hypnotise me?"

"No. I mean, I could if you wanted, but … just do it, will you?"

"Well, okay. But if you make me bark like a dog, I'm going to be very pissed."

--

"How far?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Are they in place?"

"They will be."

There was silence in the SUV for a minute or two.

"Are you going to talk to her? Tell her how you really feel?"

"You planning on telling Chuck how _you_ feel?"

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey.

--

"Well?" Jones caught up with Grebble as he wandered up the corridor, annotating a page on his clipboard.

"I have completed my initial analysis," the small man said, peering through his glasses.

"And?"

"There's no indication Mr Bartowski is the Intersect."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course not. Nothing is one hundred percent." Grebble looked at him. "But although there was an increase in brain activity, none of the images we used caused any reaction." He tutted gently. "Of course, if I can keep him for a few days, there are other options I could try, some of them not nearly so sophisticated, and I'm sure -"

"We don't have days. My buyer is anxious to complete."

Grebble sighed. "As you wish."

Jones' eyes narrowed as he considered. "But you can't say for sure he isn't."

"No, as I explained -"

"Then I'll still sell him. It is, after all, _buyer beware_ in this business."

"Is it?"

"Of course." Jones clicked his fingers and one of his dark-clad minions appeared. "Get Bartowski and take him to the van. We have a delivery to make."

The man nodded, touching his swollen nose. "With pleasure, sir," he said, turning and striding away.

Jones turned back to Grebble. "We'll just hand him over and let them pursue matters. And if he's not the Intersect, then they can have the bother of cleaning up." He shook his head. "You know, I have the feeling he isn't. My source was very unspecific."

"But he has handlers," Grebble pointed out.

"Then maybe he's something else. Some kind of computer genius instead."

"Who works at the Buy More?"

"A good cover is invaluable. Still, in a few hours it won't be our problem." He adjusted his cuff. "Of course, we'll have to get rid of Dr Colbert as well," Jones added, almost as an afterthought. "She has outlived her usefulness."

"Let me," Grebble said. "I have something I think will be ideal that I've been longing to try out."

--

"How's that?" Max asked as she watched Chuck take long, slow, deep breaths.

"You know, I think it's better."

"You really should come and talk to me again. You're under a lot of stress, and it might help."

Chuck had to smile. "Are you trying to drum up business?"

"Well, I think my ambulance chasing days are behind me, don't you? I'm just a little too old for it now."

"Age is a state of mind," Chuck said gallantly. "And anyway, you're not old."

"Chuck, I -"

The door slammed open and BG1 was revealed. "Say goodbye, Bartowski," he growled nasally.

"What?"

BG1 stepped into the room and got his hands under Chuck's shoulders, lifting him to his feet despite his height. "You've got an appointment."

"Max?"

"She's staying put."

Chuck wiggled so he could look down at the psychoanalyst. "No, she needs -"

"It's okay, Chuck," Max said, swallowing. "I'll be fine."

"No, it's not okay." He struggled some more, but BG1 was too strong for him. "Let me go!"

"Not likely."

Chuck was manhandled out of the room. "Max!" he called again, but anything she might have replied was cut off as the door closed.

BG2 was waiting for them, the little man called Grebble at his side.

"Finished?" the scientist asked.

"All yours."

Chuck watched in alarm as Grebble took a small canister from his pocket and screwed it into an access port by the door. "What's that?" he demanded.

Grebble smiled and patted his arm. "Nothing for you to worry about. Nor Dr Colbert, ever again." He chuckled.

Chuck felt a cold shiver run up his spine. Grebble was clearly insane, and that meant … "No!" He darted forward, trying desperately to read the label. Then the lights went out as a bag was slipped over his head. Still, it was enough.

Images overwhelmed him. A cat in a basket – bodies lying on a concrete floor – the scent of flowers– an eye, thick redness oozing from the corner – Dr Grebble in front of a classroom full of people – a mathematical representation of a chemical formula – the cat … "God," he whispered, knowing all the blood had rushed from his face. He began to struggle harder.

"Now just behave," someone whispered in his ear, dragging him unceremoniously down the corridor. "You worry about your own self. If you live that long."

--

Casey spoke into his wrist mike. "Everyone in place?"

"_Section one, in place."_

"_Section two. I got movement, but we can take them."_

"_Section three. Ready."_

Casey looked at Sarah, the light of determination in his eyes. "Then let's go."

--

"Look, she doesn't know anything," Chuck was saying, his words muffled by the cloth in front of his mouth. "She's just my doctor. She doesn't know anything at all."

"Keep going."

Chuck stumbled, only managing to retain his feet by sheer luck, but that didn't stop his captors.

What did was a dull booming sound that reverberated through the floor.

"What the hell was that?" BG2 turned to his companion.

"Sounded like a shaped charge."

"Then that means –"

"We got company."

--

Casey drew a bead on the man just inside the door, taking only a moment to adjust for movement, and fired. The man jerked back, dead before he hit the floor.

"I'm going in," he said to his partner.

Sarah nodded, following him and covering his back.

--

"Wait here," BG1 said. "I'm going to make sure our way out is clear."

"And if it isn't?"

"Well, I'll see what I can do to make it clear."

Chuck, his head still swathed in the hood, heard a metallic clicking sound, and with a sinking heart recognised it as the safety on a weapon being removed.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sporadic sound of gunfire, apparently getting closer. It was a small explosion just around the corner of the corridor, however, that made up BG2's mind for him. "Move," he whispered urgently, pushing Chuck to the side.

"Hold it!" Another voice, this one unknown, the sound of bullets being exchanged deafening Chuck for a long moment as he cringed, waiting for the blinding pain of being hit.

Then nothing.

"'Cuse me?" Chuck ventured, but to no response. He felt around with his foot, and jerked back as he came into contact with something soft. Bending down carefully, he reached out with his bound hands and touched … someone. Someone lying very still indeed. "Uh …"

Standing up quickly, he backed away, feeling a door behind him open as he staggered through. It hissed closed, and suddenly the sound of the gun battle was a lot further away.

He leaned against the wall, his heart pounding, and he took a deep breath, feeling the fabric of the hood drawn into his mouth. He pushed it away with his tongue, suddenly disgusted by the feel of it around him. He had to get it off. He pulled his head as hard as he could down the wall, pushing the hood up. It wasn't doing his cheekbones any good, but there was just the hint of light. A second, and a third time, only this was more successful as the hood caught on his ear, and he could take a look around.

An office, from the desk and computer. Probably belonging to Mr Jones, if the opulence of the carpet and other furnishings was anything to go by. And a phone. He smiled with relief. If he could now just call Casey or Sarah, let them know where he was, tell them to be careful … If he could remember their cell numbers and praying they weren't going to go straight through to voicemail.

As he crossed to the desk, he glanced out of the window, seeing a green van with gold lettering announcing 'Sunshine Nursery' … His jaw dropped as images ran behind his eyes, leaving him slightly breathless.

"Seluchi Giacani," he said to himself, licking dry lips and mentally thanking his migraine that he hadn't started flashing any sooner.

"That's right."

Chuck whirled.

BG1 stood in front of him, a look of triumph mixed with annoyance on his face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Um … escaping?"

"I don't think so." He lifted his gun.

Chuck held up his hands. "Wait! Wait! You can't kill me! What will you say to your boss?"

"Oops?" BG1's finger tightened on the trigger.

Chuck closed his eyes, even though the hood had dropped back over his face. He waited. And waited. And …

"Chuck?"

The hood was pulled off his head, and with great trepidation, and expecting to feel great pain any second, Chuck opened one eye. "Sarah?"

"It's me." She smiled. "Are you okay?" she added, looking him up and down to make sure no-one had damaged him.

"I … I'm fine. But there was a bad guy. With a gun. He was pointing it at me."

"Don't worry." Sarah nodded over her shoulder. "Casey took care of him."

Chuck looked in the direction she indicated and saw the big NSA agent bending down over BG1, who lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor.

"I think I broke his nose," he commented with satisfaction.

"Uh, no, I did that," Chuck said.

"Really?" Casey looked sceptical.

"But thanks, I know I –" His eyes widened as he remembered. "Max. They're … we have to help her."

"Where?" Casey was suddenly in his face, thunder in his eyes.

"Down there," Chuck pointed.


	8. Chapter 8

Casey ran in the direction Chuck had indicated, his gun held ready, his mind only half on making sure there was no-one in the way, and half on hoping they were going to get to Max in time. This was the problem, he knew. Any kind of emotional attachment could make a man sloppy, stop him thinking about the job and start him thinking about the woman instead. He just couldn't allow himself to do that. _Too late_, the little voice inside him said mockingly, but he ignored it.

Chuck came next, trying to get some blood flow back into his fingers now that the tape had been cut. He could hear Sarah behind him, knowing she was checking every room they passed, but he too was thinking mainly about Max. He'd known her for less than two days, but he wanted to be her friend, and that meant she had to be alive. Please God that she was still alive.

They came up to a T-junction, and Casey glanced back. His eyebrow went up in query, but Chuck could only shrug and shake his head. He couldn't remember which way they'd come.

The big NSA man scowled, slowing and peering around the corner. A small man in a white coat was standing staring at something on a small monitor.

Chuck leaned out a little. "Grebble," he whispered.

"Simon Grebble?" Sarah asked, but they ignored her.

"That's it," Chuck added. "Hurry."

Casey pushed him back, stepping silently out into the corridor and walking up behind the scientist. "Move and I'll blow your head off," he snarled.

Grebble straightened up, his eyes wide in shock.

Casey thrust him face first against the wall, running his hand professionally down the man's body to check for weapons. His eyes skittered to the monitor, and his heart missed a beat. Max was on the floor, lying very still.

As much as he wanted to see this man's brains decorating the wall, he flipped the gun in his hand and brought it down hard on Grebble's neck, letting the small man slip to the floor. "Stay there," he added, then reached for the handle of the door into the room.

"No! Stop!" Chuck ran full pelt towards him, wedging himself between Casey and the door.

The big man glared at him. "Get out of the way," he growled, his eyes cold as glaciers.

"No." Chuck swallowed and added quickly, "Tetrocyclonate. Nerve gas. Suppresses the pulmonary, cardio and cerebral systems. Unconscious on immediate exposure and fatal in less than ten minutes."

"You flashed?" Sarah asked.

He nodded. "Earlier. You open that door, we're dead." Something was nagging at him, though, tickling his brain. Not a flash, but something he'd seen …

"I don't, then so's Max." Casey started to turn the handle. "You get back. I'll hold my breath, grab Max and -"

"That won't work. It gets in through the skin." A green van with gold lettering … 'Sunshine Nursery' … "Cold!" Chuck pounced on the controls. "This is a cold store. For flowers!"

"So?"

"We lower the temperature to below freezing. Tetrocyclonate becomes inert at minus five degrees." He turned the dial down as low as it would go.

"This is meant for things like orchids," Sarah said, watching the red digital numbers drop. "It might not get cold enough."

"We have to try."

He and Sarah stared at the indicator, while Casey waited impatiently, his fingers still curled around the handle.

Ten degrees, nine, eight, seven … it crept lower, slowing even as they watched. Three … two … one … The display turned blue as it reached zero, then read minus one … minus two … minus three …

"How much longer?" Casey ground out, his eyes flicking between the display to the monitor. "Max is dying in there."

"Not long," Sarah said, her hand finding Chuck's and holding tight.

Minus four … it stopped. The numbers stopped, and Chuck felt his own heart pause. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he kept repeating like a mantra, begging them to continue dropping.

"No time left," Casey breathed, already beginning to turn the handle.

Then … minus five … minus six ...

"Go!"

Casey had the door open in a flash and stepped inside as cold air rolled out in a fog that gathered around their ankles. A moment later and he was back, Max in his arms, carrying her along the corridor towards the fresh air, Chuck at his heels.

Sarah slammed the door closed again, even as the numbers began to climb, trying not to breathe in the mist that smelled of decaying flowers.

The open doorway was twenty yards in front when Giacani stepped out in front of them, a rather efficient looking semi-automatic pistol held capably in his hands. "You're not going anywhere with my property," he said.

Casey felt the blood boil in his veins, and he was about to lay Max down and take this man in front of him apart when a gunshot from behind him had him turning on his heel. Sarah stood, the pistol in her hand smoking.

"Well, you'd have killed him," she said, shrugging.

Giacani was on the floor, his hand thrust against his shoulder, blood leaking from between his fingers.

"Yeah," Casey agreed.

"Go," Sarah urged. "I'll deal with this."

Casey didn't even acknowledge, just stepped over the groaning man and powered out into the night air. Another thirty feet away from the building and he laid Max on her back on the gravel, under the stars. He leaned over her, listening.

"Dammit, she's not breathing!"

He began CPR, alternately blowing air into her lungs and doing chest compressions.

"Let me help," Chuck said softly. "I know how."

Casey shot him a single look, then nodded. He moved up so Chuck could replace him, his double fist in the centre of Max's sternum. Five compressions and Casey covered her lips with his own, forcing life giving oxygen into her mouth. Another five, and a breath. Another …

Neither of them noticed Sarah come outside, Giacani in one hand, cuffed and staggering. An agent ran up and she handed him over. "Get the paramedics over here now," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." He dragging Giacani away, protesting that he was in pain, and everyone ignoring him.

Time stretched, until there was nothing but Chuck's counting and the sound of Casey trying to …

Max coughed, her whole body convulsing as she gulped air, and Chuck scrambled inelegantly to his feet.

Casey put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from injuring herself. "Max?"

"God …" She was coughing so violently that Chuck expected to see vital organs on the ground, and wasn't in the least bit surprised when she jerked from Casey's grasp to spew the contents of her stomach across the gravel.

Very gently Casey pulled her back once she'd finished, pillowing her head on his thighs and pushing her hair from her face.

"Here." Chuck held out a handkerchief.

"Thanks." Casey almost flashed a smile as he took the crumpled linen, wiping Max's lips and cleaning her up as best he could.

A wailing and flashing red lights a distance off announced the imminent arrival of an ambulance, but no-one took any notice.

--

Max opened her eyes, and realised she was staring into a white ceiling. The second thing she noted was that she was comfortable, and warm. So not in that cell, then. She took a slow breath, and picked up the smell of disinfectant, air freshener, hot metal … She smiled, allowing herself to relax. She knew that combination all too well. A hospital.

There was a swishing noise and the sounds of people talking filtered in, overlaid with someone on a PA system calling for Dr Harrison, which faded as the swish repeated.

"Well, I see someone's awake."

Max turned her head to see a young woman, long dark hair caught up haphazardly at the nape of her neck, and somewhat familiar brown eyes. She was wearing scrubs and a name tag.

"Yes." Max tried to lift herself up, but she felt as weak as a kitten.

"No, now you lay still," the young woman said, pressing her back into the pillow gently but firmly. "You gave everyone something of a shock, getting gassed like that."

"Gas?"

"John said it was some kind of blowback from some chemical plant, but he wasn't too precise. If he hadn't found you at your home, though -"

"John?"

"John Casey." The woman pulled a pencil torch from her pocket, shining it into Max's eyes. "Don't you remember?"

"Where is he?" she asked, this time managing to get her elbows under herself so she could look around. Evidently in a private room, she could see people moving around in the corridor outside, but there was no sign of the NSA agent.

"He's not here, Dr Colbert."

Max looked at her, then focused on her name badge. 'Dr E Bartowski', it read. "You're Chuck's sister?"

Ellie Bartowski grinned. "That's me. And I gather you're a friend of Chuck's too, considering he's been calling every ten minutes or so to see if you've woken up yet."

"How long has it been?"

"You've been out of things for nearly forty-eight hours," Ellie explained, "but a lot of that was because we were keeping you sedated. We needed to see if there was any damage to your lungs or other soft tissue."

"And is there?"

"None that we can see, Dr Colbert."

"Max. Please call me Max."

Ellie smiled again. "Okay, Max. Now I want you to try and get some rest. I'll go and call my brother, let him know you're back in the land of the living. Oh, and a Dr Greis has been calling too. Asking when he can come visit."

"Tell him I'm dead, will you?"

She laughed. "Will do."

Max waited until Ellie was at the door. "How long do I have to stay here?" she asked.

"I'd like to keep you under observation for another day, just to be on the safe side. But if there's no indication of any complications, you can go home tomorrow evening." She chuckled. "Now rest, or I'll have to agree with those people who say doctors make the worse patients." The door swished closed behind her.

Max lay back, her head sinking into the soft pillow. So Chuck had been worried enough to keep calling. That was nice. But Ellie hadn't mentioned whether Casey … "Don't be ridiculous," Max muttered to herself, pulling the sheet up higher and turning onto her side. "You're just a job."

--

"Hi." Chuck stood in the doorway, his hands thrust into his jeans pockets.

Max half turned, pausing in her packing of the few items that were hers. "Hi." She saw a half-healed graze on his cheek. "Are you all right?"

He touched the skin. "Someone pushed my face into gravel, but it's okay."

"What did you tell your sister?"

"That I fell over. She's used to that. I did it a lot when I was younger."

"And don't tell me, Ellie used to insist on wrapping you up in bandages even for a scraped knee."

Chuck laughed. "Yep, that's my sister. I think I was her first patient."

"You should be proud of her."

"I am."

"And I'm sure she's proud of you." She dropped the toothbrush into the bag.

"I don't know about that." He carried on quickly before she could comment, "Sarah's just parking the car. We're going to give you a lift back to your place."

"You don't have to do that."

"We want to."

"Then thanks."

Chuck moved further in so the door could shut behind him. "We found him, by the way."

Max folded her nightgown. "Found who?"

"The mole. The one who told Giacani about the … about me."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Sarah went through his phone records, came up with a name. Works in the General's office." He couldn't help the grin working its way across his face. "She's not exactly over the moon to find out her security isn't as tight as she thought." He lowered his long body into the chair. "Seems he owed someone some money and Giacani said he'd wipe out the debt."

She perched on the edge of the bed. "So he knew you were … you?"

"Not really. But he knew I was something, and he put two and two together."

"But nobody else knows?"

Chuck shrugged. "I guess we'll have to wait and find out."

"How do you live like this, Chuck?" She shook her head. "Always looking over your shoulder, never knowing if someone is going to figure it out."

"It's not like I have a choice, although Casey would say I was doing it for my country."

"Yes, well, Casey would, wouldn't he." She got to her feet and zipped up the holdall with a definite finality.

Chuck felt guilty at bringing up what was obviously still a very painful subject, and he looked around for something else to talk about. "Oh, and Dr Grebble is a wanted man in twenty-seven countries."

"Who?"

"The little man. With the glasses? The … the man who poisoned you."

"He must get around a lot." She finally smiled.

"He's worked for some of the better quality of the world's terrorists. He's …" He grinned. "He's singing like a canary as we speak."

"Sounds like you made quite a haul."

"Well, Sarah and Casey did." Chuck couldn't take it anymore. "He didn't leave, you know," he blurted out.

"What?"

"Casey. He wouldn't go until he knew how you were." He patted the arms of the chair. "Stayed there. I don't think he even slept. Not 'til they made him leave, told him you were going to be okay."

"Really." She sat down again. "He hasn't been to see me."

"No, well, that was my fault." Chuck looked shamefaced. "I flashed on a guy in the queue at the supermarket and Casey had to … well, he got himself a little shot."

Max was on her feet in a moment. "Shot? Is he okay? Where is he?"

Chuck followed, taking her hands. "He's fine. It was just a graze on his arm. Nothing else."

"Oh. Good." She smiled ruefully. "Ridiculous, aren't I?"

"No, not ridiculous." He grinned at her.

The door swished open.

"Okay, the car's outside," Sarah said, holding up her keys. "And how do you feel?"

"Better if people don't keep asking me."

"Sorry."

"No, no, look, I'm the one who should be apologising," Max said quickly. "I should be thanking you both too, for rescuing me."

Chuck blushed a little. "All in a day's work." He picked up her bag. "Shall we go?"

It took them a little longer than expected, as Max had to sign half a tree's worth of forms, but eventually they made it out into the fresh air.

"My car's over there," Sarah said, nodding towards the further parking lot.

"I'll take it from here."

Everyone turned, surprised to see Casey standing behind them, dressed in his dark suit and white shirt, his tie neatly knotted at his neck.

"Casey," Chuck said, willing his heart rate to return to normal. "Didn't expect you to be here."

"Well, I don't tell you everything, do I?" He glared at Chuck.

"No. No, you don't. In fact, you hardly ever tell me anything at all," the young man agreed.

"So you're going to take Max home?" Sarah asked.

Casey nodded. "That's the plan."

"What if I don't want you to?" Max squared up to him. "I'm perfectly capable of getting a cab."

"And the doctors said you could only go home if there was someone to stay with you," Casey pointed out.

"You talked to my doctors?"

"I spoke to Ellie."

"Oh." Her eyes narrowed. "But why should it be you?"

"Because we need to talk."

"I don't see we do. I think we've probably said everything we wanted to say."

In response Casey held out his hand towards Chuck. "Bag," he ordered.

"Now wait a minute -" Max was getting angry.

"Best do what he says," Chuck said, handing the holdall over. "Easier in the long run." He glanced at Sarah. "Come on, sweetie," he added. "I think it's time we left these two lovebirds alone, don't you?"

Sarah nodded, trying not to grin widely. "Well, I do have things I could be getting on with. Reports to write, that sort of thing."

"I can help," Chuck suggested.

"Good idea." She grabbed his arm and dragged him away, leaving Max and Casey staring at each other.

At the car, Chuck looked back. The pair of them hadn't moved. "Do you think they're going to be all right?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's possible only one of them is going to come out alive."

Chuck opened the car door. "I put money on Max."

"Yeah, but Casey knows a lot of ways to kill someone."

"But Max is a girl. All they have to do is turn on the eyes …"

Sarah smiled, then fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Like this?"

"Oh, get in the car," Chuck griped. He waited until they were both sitting down. "I feel like a movie. How about you?"

"I do actually have reports to write."

He put his hand on hers. "Write them tomorrow. I'll let you pick."

"Such a gentleman."

"I try to be."

"Then … how about _Guns of War_?"

He grinned. "A woman after my own heart."


	9. Chapter 9

Max and Casey didn't speak as he drove them towards the coast. He kept his eyes on the road, but could tell she kept glancing at him, and a couple of times he thought she was going to say something, then she turned away, staring out of the side window.

As they neared Max's beach house, however, Casey took the speed off the SUV, so that they were well within the speed limit.

"What's the matter?" Max asked. "Worried about the cops?"

"No. Just making sure I remember the way."

"I'm sure you haven't forgotten."

"No." He made a right turn down an unmade road, ending at a weathered wooden house that looked like something out of the 1950s. "Can't say it's changed much."

"Not at all." Max waited until he'd pulled the car to a stop, then was out in a moment. "If you can just get my bag from the –"

He shook his head, hands still on the steering wheel. "No. I told you. We need to talk."

"You had the opportunity as we drove along," she pointed out.

"I like to concentrate on my driving."

"Whatever." She stepped away from the SUV. "Honestly, I don't need any of that stuff, so you can keep it or toss it, I don't care. Goodbye, John." She walked away.

Instead of being angry, Casey just smiled slightly.

The house stood on the edge of the beach, built into a low rocky face that meant the downstairs bedroom led out directly onto the sand, while the front door was on the first floor, with a verandah leading around to French windows at the back. This was protected by a security gate, but Casey didn't even bother with that. He merely got out of the car, walked around to the trunk and removed what he wanted, then locked everything up. He strolled down the incline to the beach, whistling slightly.

--

Max let herself into her home and closed the door firmly behind her. Leaning on it for a whole minute, she listened to hear the SUV drive away, but there was no roar of an engine. _Fine_, she told herself. _If he's going to be childish, let him. He had all the chances he needed to talk on the way over, and he didn't say a word. Fine._

Her inner psychoanalyst said she was the one being childish, but she pushed the little voice down, trying to hide it under layers of anger and pain at what he did to her.

Tossing her jacket onto the chair, she walked through to the living room, opening the windows to let the fresh sea air clear the slight mustiness inside. The sun was low, shining right into her eyes, so it wasn't until she had walked to the edge of the verandah and looked over that she saw Casey sitting on the sand on a tartan rug. It took a moment for her to close her mouth, just staring, studying the man's back. She could see he had hitched his pants up a little so his elbows rested on his knees, as there was a small expanse of leg above his black socks.

"You know you look ridiculous, don't you?" she finally managed to say, leaning her forearms on the wooden railing.

He didn't turn around, just continued to look out as the sun dropped closer to the horizon. "I wouldn't agree," he replied. "This is my best suit."

"Hardly the right outfit for sunbathing."

"I'm not sunbathing."

"Oh, no, I forgot. John Casey doesn't do anything so … immature."

He raised an eyebrow at the slight bitterness in her voice, but didn't rise to it. Instead he opened the wicker basket he'd brought with him, taking out a red and white check table cloth, a bottle of wine in a cooler pack, two glasses, and four plates covered with film. These he proceeded to arrange on the basket top.

Max watched with increasing incredulity. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Casey countered.

"Well, as if you're intending to have a picnic."

"Then you're probably right."

"Um … why?"

"Why don't you join me and you can find out."

It took her by surprise when she realised her treacherous body was already at the top of the stairs, walking down to the beach below.

Casey stood up, adjusting his jacket as he did so. He waited until he knew she was right behind him before turning. "See? Not so hard, is it?"

"Why are you here?" she wanted to know.

"Public beach. Or were you being a little more existential than that?"

"No, I wanted to know why here. This minute. Standing on _my_ beach."

"Because we need to talk. And I thought it might make things easier if we could do it over something tasty." He gestured down to the plates. "I made quiche. And there's salad, fresh rolls, and some of those chocolate chip cookies that you like so much."

"In your suit."

Casey looked down. "This is my business suit," he said. "It's what I wear when I do business."

She swallowed. "And are you on business this evening?"

"Maybe."

"Because if you're here to kill me, to protect Chuck, you're going about things in a very odd manner."

"I'm not going to kill you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she wasn't sure if there was an unspoken 'yet' hanging in the air. "Then why are you here?"

"I told you. We need to talk."

Those words just made her sad. "John, I don't think there's anything worth saying. Not any more."

"I disagree."

She tossed her hands into the air, half turning away. "This is crazy."

"Perhaps. And maybe the urge will wear off in a few days, but I intend to stay here until you talk to me."

"You're going to camp out here?"

"If I have to. I've done it in worse places."

"I bet you have."

"Max, you know what I am."

"Yes, I do. But only because Sarah came and told me. When I thought I was going crazy because you'd walked out on me. When I thought it was something I'd done."

Casey looked into her dark eyes, feeling something unused stirring inside him, and was somewhat shocked to realise it was his heart. "No, Max. Nothing you'd done."

She shook her head, ignoring his quiet words. "And the only reason she was allowed to do that was because the Government was afraid I was going to have a breakdown and they'd lose one of their assets."

"Did you?" he asked gently. "Have a breakdown?"

"Nearly. I was that close." She held up a hand, thumb and forefinger barely a quarter of an inch apart.

"I'm sorry."

"I thought I wasn't good enough, John."

His lip lifted, just a little. "Just the opposite, Max."

"I don't understand."

"I asked to be reassigned."

For a long moment she didn't understand, then realisation hit her with the speed and impact of an express train. "You mean …the way you … you weren't ordered to … the wedding …" Anger boiled up inside her, and without conscious intervention she drew back her hand and hit him on his cheek with as much strength as she could muster.

The noise of the slap echoed across the beach.

"Better?" he asked, not moving to touch the brilliant red handprint on his face.

"Yes." She lifted her chin belligerently, turning on her heel and heading back for the stairs.

"Oh, no," he said, catching her arm, ignoring the pull of the bullet graze on his own bicep. "You hit me. Now it's time for payback. And that means you're going to listen."

"Let go of me."

"No."

"I said … let go."

"No. Max, even if you were capable, you wouldn't hurt me any more than –" He stopped as she kicked him in the shin and ran for the staircase. "Damn it, that hurts!" he yelled, hobbling after her as best he could, and only catching her because of the heavy sand clogging her footsteps. "You wait!"

"Let me go or I'll do it again," she threatened, wanting to get away from him before the tears that were about to fall did so, and made her embarrassment complete.

"Go ahead. You can break every bone in my body, and it still won't make up for what I did to you."

She stopped struggling, staring at him instead with an open mouth. "You …"

"I'm sorry, Max. I asked to be reassigned because I was caring too much." He shook his head. "Do you really think the NSA would have baulked at ordering me to marry you? It's been done before, and for less reason."

His eyes seemed very blue in the odd light, but she steeled herself against them. He could lie, had done, often, and there was no reason to suppose he wasn't now. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I knew you were better than that," he said softly. "Better than me, and way better than I deserved. You loved me, unconditionally, and I … I couldn't let you do it."

"Couldn't let me?" She shook her head. "John, I would have gone through with it, even if I –"

"No, you wouldn't," he interrupted. "You've got scruples. Mine disappeared a long time ago."

"You know, it was one of the most God-awful times to find them again."

"I know. And I've spent a long time trying not to think about you." He smiled slightly. "Pretty successfully, too."

"Thanks," she said witheringly.

"Then you do that damn knock on Bartowski's door, and you're back. I didn't know what to do."

"You saved my life. That's all that was necessary." She licked her lips. "And I'm grateful, you know that." She tried to pull her arm away. "You don't have to say anything else."

"Yes, I do." He moved closer. "I spent a lot of time sitting in that hospital room, watching you, thinking about what I needed to say. A whole lot of time."

Max sighed. "Well, I suppose … if you put it like that … Go on, then."

"I broke the rules, Max." He was standing almost touching her now, and his masculinity seemed to be a tangible creature reaching out to caress her skin.

"Really?" She coughed, attempting to bring her voice down from the stratosphere. _You're a doctor_, she said to herself. _Act like one_. "How?"

"The Intersect. Chuck. He's my number one priority, has to be. It's my job to protect him, get him away from any danger before it escalates." He looked down at his feet, as close to being embarrassed as he was every going to get. "I didn't do it. I should have taken him out of the building, away from that place, and let the others find you, save you if they could." He glanced up. "I couldn't do it." His lips lifted. "I can't be sure about this, since I don't exactly have the experience to base it on, but I think you might mean more to me than my job."

She was dumbstruck. All she could get out was a soft, "Oh."

"I mean, I'm not one hundred percent positive. This could just be a mental aberration," he added. "But I'd like to see."

"And you think I should let you?"

"What I did, the way I did it … you'd be within your rights to never want to see me again. Hell, you'd probably be acquitted if you shot me."

"I don't have a gun," she said inconsequentially.

"I'll get you one."

"Thank you."

He pulled her to him, so that there was only their clothes between them. "Max, I lie for a living. I can't help that. But if you wanted to get some Pentathol and inject me with it, I wouldn't tell you anything different. I want to see you. Find out if there's some place we can take this. You and me."

"You, me and Chuck, you mean."

"He's not invited. But I know what you mean," he add quickly. "He's my responsibility, and believe me, sometimes he can get into more trouble than I think he's worth. But … maybe there's room for the both of you."

"He likes you."

"That's what Walker says."

"She's right."

"So? Are we?"

"Are we … what?"

"Max, if you want, I'll get in that car and drive away, and you'll never have to see me again. I don't want that, but if you do … so be it."

"So it's my choice?"

"Always."

"And if they order you not to see me again?"

He lifted his head, staring into the darkness as he pondered. "Well …"

"John."

He smiled, dipping his chin, and she remembered just how handsome he was when he did that. "I'll talk to you," he said quietly.

"Not tell them where to stuff their job?"

"No. But maybe we can come to some arrangement."

"Arrangement."

"Yeah." He lowered his lips to hers, not pressing hard, just resting them. As a kiss, it wasn't the most passionate, but when he lifted his head again he could see she was blushing, and her breathing had quickened.

"How do I know you're not lying to me again?"

"Pentathol?"

"You know, as a psychoanalyst, I can get hold of that."

"I know."

"Any time, any place. You'd never know until it was too late."

"I'm counting on it."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Then I think we'd better take this inside. To talk," she added quickly.

"Talking's good."

"You know they're watching." She bent down and picked up the bottle of wine.

"I know." He'd noticed the bushes moving a little, and caught sight of Chuck's wide-eyed face just in time as Sarah pulled him down next to her. "What are you doing?" he asked as she tried to manoeuvre the plates into a position she could take hold of them one-handed.

"If you think I'm going to leave your quiche outside for predators to eat, you can think again." She smiled somewhat shakily. "Does it have those tiny little onions in?"

"The way you like it," he confirmed, taking them from her.

"Good. Because that hospital food is okay, but I need something decent inside me."

His blue eyes sparkled wickedly. "I don't think I've ever been called decent before."

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him. "You are appalling."

"I work hard at it." He quickly packed up the hamper and stood straight. "Shall we?"

She laughed, and it warmed him through.

"Why not. Just for old times sake."

"And maybe we can make some new ones," Casey added softly, ushering her up the stairs.

"Oh, that is so sweet," Chuck said quietly from his position in the bushes.

"Actually, it makes me want to throw up," Sarah said, standing up and brushing sand from her pants.

"What? Where's the romance in your soul?"

"Max is my friend. If he hurts her again …"

"Were you watching the same thing I was?" Chuck asked in astonishment. "Didn't you see the look on his face?"

Sarah shook her head, but had to admit it was something she'd never expected to witness. John Casey, being sentimental. "We'll see," she declared grudgingly. "Now, are we going to this movie or not?"

"_Guns of War_?"

"That's the one. Or you could help me write my reports."

"No, no, I feel the urge for milk duds over my popcorn."

"Whatever turns you on, sweetie," Sarah said, walking out of the undergrowth and back towards her car.

"Oh, you do," Chuck said quietly, sighing somewhat ruefully. "You do."

"Come on," she called. "Or all the best seats will be taken."

He ran to catch her up. "I'll buy the tickets if you buy the snacks," he offered.

"Done."

--

Next morning Chuck lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and smiling happily as he thought over the events of the previous evening, and this time it wasn't just his and Sarah's date that filled his mind. Maybe there was hope for John Casey yet. The redoubtable Major had certainly had a very proprietorial hand in the small of Max's back. And who knows what goes on behind closed doors?

"Chuck?" It was Ellie calling from the corridor outside his room.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Course. I'm not doing anything I shouldn't."

The door opened and she leaned against the jamb. "Are you planning on getting up at all today?"

"Well, no, I was actually wondering whether to just stay here for the entire weekend. You know. Veg out."

"Only you were going to help me get that box down from the attic. You know? Those old toys of yours?" There was definitely the hint of a grin on her face. "You wanted to go through them in case you needed to keep anything?"

He put his hands under the back of his head. "Actually, sis, I think you can take it all. If I don't know it's in there, I can't need it that much."

"Charles Bartowski, are you growing up?" She managed to get an amazing amount of shock into her voice.

"Nah. What's the point?"

She smiled. "Well, whatever it is, keep doing it." She half turned to go then looked back. "By the way, did you know John Casey has been out all night?" She shook her head. "Devon says his car still isn't in its spot."

Now it was Chuck's turn to grin. "Maybe he's growing up too."

"Max?"

"Maybe."

Ellie laughed. "Good. He needs the attentions of a good woman."

"Oh, I always found the attentions of a bad one much more interesting."

"Since when did you know any bad women?"

He sighed happily. "You don't know everything about me."

"One day, you're going to tell me about all these adventures of yours." She obviously didn't believe he ever had any, and as much as he wanted to tell her about them, he knew he never could. "By the way, how's your head? Is your migraine gone?"

He nodded. "Finally. I kinda feel like me again."

"Really? Who did you feel like before?"

"Not entirely sure."

"Well, you're my little brother, and if you ever feel like anyone else, you just come to me and I'll remind you."

"Okay."

Ellie smiled at him and closed the door.

"Hey, dude, I thought she'd never go," Morgan said, climbing in through the window.

"I thought you were in love with her?" Chuck asked, not really surprised as he moved back in the bed to lean against the headboard.

"I am. And I'm just biding my time before she realises Awesome is not the man for her. But this is Chuck and Morgan time. Frodo and Samwise. Holmes and Watson." He paused. "Riggs and Murtaugh."

"Have you been mainlining _Lethal Weapon _again?" Chuck asked, raising his eyebrows.

Morgan shrugged, getting himself comfortable on the bed next to his best friend. "Did you know if you watch them backwards they actually get better?"

"Yeah, well, nothing could be much worse than number four."

"I disagree. What about the debacle that was _Batman and Robin_?"

Chuck pondered for a moment. "Okay. I'll give you that one."

Morgan nodded in gracious acceptance. "Anyway, this is you and me, buddy." He dumped the armful of DVDs he was carrying onto the bed. "You pick."

Chuck poked through the pile. _Star Wars_, of course (but only the original), _Battlestar Galactica_, _Tron_, _Serenity _… "You on a sci-fi kick?" he asked, holding up _Independence Day_.

"Hey, there are some good performances in them," Morgan protested. "Besides, I like a little escapism once in a while from our daily boring and humdrum lives."

For a long moment Chuck felt the almost overwhelming urge to bare all, to let out all the secrets he was keeping, but he held it in. "By the way," he said instead, "I should apologise over the Veronica incident. I know I said I'd -"

Morgan waved his hand. "That's okay," he said. "I'm over her."

"Really? The love of your life?"

"She gave Lester her phone number."

Chuck's jaw dropped. "She did what?"

"Told him to call her sometime." Morgan shuddered. "She liked him. I could never go out with a woman who thought Lester was … sexy. I will never be that desperate."

"No?"

"Okay, maybe I am." He picked up one of the DVDs. "So, what do you wanna watch?"

"You remember that time you found the tapes of that old British TV programme, _Joe 90_?" Chuck asked slowly.

"About the boy who had all those skills put inside his head? The child abuse thing?"

"That's the one. I don't suppose you've got that?"

Morgan looked contrite. "Nope. But I can try and get it for next week, if you really want to watch it again? Although I find the whole Gerry Anderson oeuvre somewhat dated."

"They had strings, Morgan. Of course they're dated."

"So you want me to -"

"No, no. It was just a thought." He picked up a box. "This one, then."

Morgan glanced at the title. "_Fifth Element_. Good choice. I can just go for a little Bruce and Milla. You put it on, I'll call for pizza."

"It's ten o'clock in the morning!" Chuck protested.

"So?"

Chuck gazed at his friend, studying his hopeful little face, and realised he had it pretty good sometimes. Apart from having a Government computer forcibly downloaded into his brain, then being kidnapped, drugged, shot at on a regular basis … "Okay. But if you get crumbs in the bed again -"

"I know. I'll make sure the Dustbuster is to hand." He grinned and picked up the phone. As he dialled he said over his shoulder, "Hey, did I tell you about Harriet?"

"Who?"

"Works in the Large Mart. Just started there, so my reputation hasn't quite …"

Chuck listened to his friend talk, and smiled. Yeah, sometimes life could be so sweet.


End file.
